A House Divided - Chet's Cataclysm
by Piscean6724
Summary: Chet's in trouble. Will his crew mates notice? Will they be able to help him before it's too late? This is the first installment in a series of stories depicting situations that cause division among the 'A' shift of Station 51.
1. Chapter 1

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

"Hey," Hank held up a hand to hush the congratulatory chatter, "hold it down. Chief, that's…K-e-l-l-y, Chester B."

Chet Kelly looked on intently as his captain sat at his desk, poised to write down the number that would change the young lineman's life forever. He was happy for DeSoto; Roy had scored ninth on the engineer's exam. Now he waited to find out where he was on the promotional list. In his heart he was certain he had scored no lower than the low 30's.

"Chester…B," Gage chuckled slowly at his tormentor's formal name.

Chet cut him an evil eye then returned his attention to Hank and his telephone conversation.

"Keep looking, Chief, Kelly's got to be in there somewhere."

"Tell 'im to look in the 30's," Chet said, anxiously leaning onto the desk.

Hank covered the phone, turning to his lineman. "He's already in the 40's," he explained, returning to his telephone conversation. "Yea, keep going….keep going."

Chet's heart sank further with each second that elapsed without Hank putting pencil to paper. Finally, he saw his superior write down a number and he thought surely there had been a mistake. He watched his captain tear the slip of paper from the pad and place it in his trembling hand. The number he saw written on it was 74th.

Although Marco and Mike had been supportive, Chet was devastated. His jovial personality forced the disappointment down into a dark hiding place; a place where it would smolder. After all, there was still a job to be done. Moments after receiving the news that had so discouraged him, the station had been toned out for a massive pile-up on the San Diego Freeway. The busy strip of asphalt had been blanketed in thick fog during the morning commute and the resulting carnage was horrific, even to a seasoned firefighter like Chet Kelly.

But even the resuscitation of a toddler who had been trapped beneath her mother wasn't enough to restore his deflated self-worth.

E!

Chet sat in the darkened stillness of his small apartment reflecting back on the day it all started; the day his life began a nosedive. He stared at the contents of the glass in his right hand; the diluted amber liquid reminding him of the color of the little girl's hair. He smiled minutely into the night as he remembered the elation he felt when she opened her big brown eyes and looked so deeply into his own. He remembered brushing her soft short hair away from her face as he murmured reassurances to the precious child that everything was alright; certain that the sight of an oddly clad stranger hovering over her was bound to be terrifying. The sound of the mother's cries of '_she's alive' _echoed in his memory as he swirled the alcoholic mixture in the glass.

He downed the last of his fourth whisky and water, hearing the clinking of the ice in the glass as he returned it to the armrest of his recliner, preferring his drinks cold instead of the usual room temperature. He used the back of his hand to wipe away a bit of moisture from the corner of his mouth, unsure if its origin was the glass he was holding or from somewhere north of his sweat dampened mustache.

The memory of that day was as vivid on this night as it was in Hank's office on that morning over ten months ago. He dipped his fingers into his glass withdrawing a half melted ice cube, placing it in his mouth. The cold of the ice mixed with the lingering taste of the whisky created a unique burning sensation sliding down his throat. He stared into the TV set sitting on the small table in the corner. He had turned down the volume of the shrill tone left in the wake of 'The Star Spangled Banner' and sat alone staring at the stripes that now decorated the black and white screen, unsure how long it had been since the station had gone off the air. A disgusted huff escaped his lips as he thought about the color television set he had planned to buy with the extra money he would have earned as an engineer. Now, he remained a lineman at 51's instead. Why_ the hell did DeSoto turn down his promotion? _

He awoke with a start, the shattering of the glass hitting the hard wood floor jolting him from his drunken slumber. He blinked his reddened dry eyes repeatedly trying to force them to focus on his watch. The numbers blurred and cleared repeatedly until he finally saw the time and scrubbed his unshaven face with his hand, a swear slurring from his chapped lips.

"Aww, shhiiiit..."

He struggled to stand, muscles stiffened from sleeping in his unintentional bed. The crunching of the broken glass beneath his bare feet elicited a hissing sound between a groan and a growl. He didn't have time to properly clean his wounds and so merely removed the imbedded glass shards, wrapping his foot from arch to ball in multiple rounds of toilet tissue to stop the bleeding and offer a hint of padding to calm the angry cuts. He gingerly covered his throbbing foot with a sock then continued rushing through his morning routine as he prepared for another shift.

E!

He pulled his duffle bag out of the passenger's side of his van, grimacing as he placed his injured right foot down on the hard concrete of the parking lot. The sight of the other familiar vehicles of his crew mates no longer caused him concern; he'd accepted the fact that latrine duty was now a routine part of his job at 51's.

Mike and Marco made their way out of the locker room offering a smile to the last member of their crew to arrive as he shuffled through the open bay door. "I'll get us some coffee started," Mike called over his shoulder, loud enough so as to be heard by the remaining crew members as they completed dressing in their L.A. County blues.

"Thanks, Mike," Roy called out as both he and Johnny turned in the direction of Mike's fading voice.

Johnny was buttoning up his shirt as Chet pushed through the locker room door. He caught a brief glimpse of his long-time nemesis slouching as he ambled towards his locker, unaware that Chet was forcing himself to walk through the pain of his injury so as not to alert them to his predicament.

Chet remained silent during the light morning chatter of the 'A' shift paramedics. He neither felt like exchanging pleasantries nor discussing what he did on his off time with the others. All he wanted to do was get through another shift.

Johnny gave a knowing nod to his partner as Chet hung up his uniforms. "Mornin', Chet."

"Yea," the Irishman muttered, slinging his duffle bag down on the bench in front of his locker. He began unbuttoning his untucked shirt rolling his eyes and silently mouthing obscenities at the realization that he had buttoned it up wrong before he left home.

Johnny felt his jaw muscles clenching and relaxing as he took in the sight of their friend pulling his button down shirt off his shoulders. He averted his gaze when Chet looked up briefly while crumpling the shirt and throwing it in the back of his locker. Looking around him, Johnny realized that Roy had walked out of the locker room ahead of him and he bolted through the still swinging door.

Feeling the younger man's hand on his shoulder, Roy stopped and turned around as they stood behind the engine. He thought he knew what his partner was about to say and his instincts were once again right on target.

"He's never been this bad, Roy. We gotta do somethin'."

"Like what? He's a grown man and what he does on his off days is his business." Roy wasn't disagreeing that their friend seemed to be having a really bad day; he simply had no idea what to do about it. "Until it affects his job there's really nothing anybody can do."

"Well, don't ya think the job's sufferin' now? Look at 'im," Johnny said in a hushed voice, animated arms flailing. "Anybody can see he's hung over."

Roy shook his head, staring at his shoes summoning his patience as he sought the right words to calm his partner. Johnny could obsess over something more than the most neurotic patient they'd ever been called to assist. He looked up into the concerned brown eyes of his friend. "Being hung over isn't a crime. He probably feels like hell but he's here and he isn't late for roll call. Not yet anyway. As long as he can do his job then what do we do?"

Seething behind the locker room door, Chet listened carefully to the conversation taking place between the paramedics. Although his name was never mentioned, he had no doubt that he was the topic of their somewhat heated conversation.

"Well, I'm gonna talk to Cap 'bout it. There's gotta be somethin' he can do," Johnny huffed in exasperation. He loved Roy like a brother but sometimes his 'don't interfere' attitude grated on Johnny's nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. He had grown up watching more than one person self-destruct and he refused to stand by idly while his friend went down that long lonely pathway. He watched Roy push open the door to the kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee beckoned him to follow. However, the memory of Chet in the locker room sent his feet in a different direction and he quickly found himself staring at the closed door of the captain's office, unaware of the man hovering behind the emergency vehicles struggling to control his acrimony.

Hank heard the tell-tale rapping on the door and surmised that his visitor was his younger medic. "Come in."

"Hey Cap," Johnny cast a brief glance over his shoulder making sure no one was watching, "can I come in?"

Hank chuckled softly to himself. "Well, John…I just invited you in when you knocked."

"Oh, oh yea…I guess ya did. Uh," he shifted nervously then finally took the seat toward which Hank's hand was gesturing. He tried to smile but his expressive face revealed his distress. "Cap, uh…I know this is none of my business but, um…well, Chet…he's, he's not doin' too good."

Hank exhaled a rush of air and leaned back in his chair. He too had been watching his young lineman spiraling downward and had wondered if he was the only one who had noticed. "I've been seeing some signs that…well, what's going on this morning?"

Johnny looked down at his hands, picking at a nearly healed scrape he'd acquired during the rescue last shift of a teenage driver who had managed to plow his car into a brick wall – in reverse. "Ah," he began unprepared for the feelings of betrayal washing over him for discussing Chet with their superior. "He's…he's just not himself." He looked up from his hands and saw Hank leaning back in his desk chair, one elbow propped on the arm in a position that his men knew meant he was contemplating something heavy.

"Let me guess…he's disheveled and sluggish? Not talkative? Blood shot eyes?" Hank watched his medic shaking his head in agreement.

"Yea…yea and…I don't know how to explain it…he's just, uh…he's not here."

Hank leaned forward, his eyes bugging. "He's not here? I thought you just said…"

"No, no, Cap…he's here he's just…not, ya know what I mean?" Johnny hoped his captain understood what he was trying to say because he knew that his words were tumbling out of his mouth landing in a jumbled heap on the desk between himself and Captain Stanley.

Hank relaxed, lightly pressing his lips together into a thin line. "So he's…distant? Is that what you're trying to say, John?"

"Yessir," Johnny looked up feeling the almost overwhelming relief flood his body as Hank spoke.

"I've tried talking to him…a few weeks back. He said everything was fine and that he'd been doing some work around his apartment complex for his landlady. That had him tired but he assured me he was fine."

"And you believed him?" Johnny winced at the accusatory tone he knew he shouldn't have used. "Ah, I'm sorry, Cap. I didn't mean that like it sounded."

Hank smiled at the nervousness of his dark haired paramedic. The man had a heart of gold that was occasionally tarnished by his overbearing personality. "I know what you meant. And to answer your question, no I didn't believe him. But, there was nothing I could do."

Johnny stood up slapping his thigh in annoyance. "So we just let 'im keep goin'?"

"Please sit back down," Hank began. "I said I talked to him several weeks ago…not recently." He waited for Johnny to sit and watched as his pacing was replaced by bouncing his knee. "Now, I really do appreciate your concern. It means a lot and I'm going to discuss it with Chet again. I'm just as worried as you are and I have to admit, I've felt frustrated over the whole thing. I thought it had gotten better but…well, I guess it hasn't."

Johnny leaned his elbows on his knees, pressing his fingertips together as he asked his next question. "So, you will talk to him again?"

Hank patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Yes, I'll talk to him again. John, I look at you men as more than subordinates; I, uh, hope you know that."

Again, Johnny lifted his dark eyes to look at his officer. "Yessir."

"You men are somewhere between sons, brothers and close friends to me. And when something's wrong with one of you, well…it becomes wrong with me too. I feel it in here," he said tapping a fist lightly to his chest.

"We all feel it, Cap," Johnny retorted, turning towards the door as he stood. He blew out his cheeks, dipping his head as he stood in front of the closed door. "We all feel it."

Hank watched the young man reach for the door knob. "John, I do appreciate you bringing this to my attention and I promise you that I will discuss it with Chet; in depth this time."

"When," Johnny asked impatiently?

"This shift…right after roll call if the tones are quiet," Hank stood up as he waited for a response.

Johnny nodded a gesture of gratitude as he stepped out into the apparatus bay. He needed a cup of coffee; the conversation he'd just shared had depleted his energy reserves much more than he'd expected. As he stepped out of the office, Johnny's dark eyes locked with leery blue ones narrowed by suspicion; Chet was standing at the entrance to the kitchen glaring in Johnny's direction.

The lineman's paranoia began to whisper silently inside his mind, confirming that the conversation which had just taken place behind the closed captain's door had been about him. His frustration with his pigeon began to swell, rising from deep within his soul heating up his heart and lungs as it rose higher and higher towards his mouth where he fought to control the lava-like tongue that so desperately wanted to spew forth its molten words into the face of one John Roderick Gage.

E!

Hank heard the hesitation in Johnny's normally sure footfalls and he momentarily considered the possibility that Chet had been standing nearby. Just as he stepped through his office door into the apparatus bay, he saw his paramedic hang his head. At the other end of the bay, the kitchen door lightly swished to and fro; the seemingly ordinary movement answering Hank's silent question.

"Come on, Pal," he said, clamping the back of Johnny's neck with a firm grasp, "time for roll call."

A/N: Opening scene taken from "The Promotion" – Emergency! Season 3.


	2. Chapter 2

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 2

Warning: language

Marco stood leaning against the refrigerator as he, Mike and Roy enjoyed their first morning cup of coffee amid an entertaining discussion of Joanne's lack of ability to parallel park. He looked up at the gruff grumbling sound of his partner entering the kitchen; the Irishman's obvious disgust displayed on his tired features.

"Morning, Chet," Marco offered as Mike hid his snickering face from Roy who continued with his tale; both men oblivious to Chet's mood.

"Mmnn."

Marco grimaced at the response he received to his usual morning greeting. He'd been noticing Chet's frequent bouts of somberness and although he had repeatedly tried, so far he'd been unable to find out what had instigated Chet's descent into despondency.

"Roy, you really need to put a muzzle on Gage," Chet began, rudely interrupting the conversation at the table as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Roy looked up with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "Yea, I get that a lot from the nurses at Rampart."

He and Mike shared a chuckle at his retort before he realized that Chet was not kidding around. "Ok, what's he done to you, Kelly?" He leaned back in his chair turning to commiserate with the lineman.

Chet leaned back against the counter blowing a cooling breath across his steaming cup. "He just needs to mind his own business before I…"

"Roll call," Hank announced, sticking his head in the kitchen doorway.

The scraping sound of chairs on the floor permeated the room as Mike and Roy stood up leading their linemen out the door in response to their captain's command. They lined up facing Hank with Johnny on one end and Chet at the opposite end of the line, the latter man feeling his nostrils flaring as he thought about his so called friend complaining to Captain Stanley about him.

Hank dutifully ran through his list of announcements ending with the assignment of chores.

"Mike, apparatus bay. Marco dayroom. Roy dorms. Johnny kitchen…please cook something besides hotdogs…and Chet, latrines. Ok, let's have a safe shift."

The men broke formation heading toward their respective chores. Roy and Johnny stopped at the squad; for them, morning checks and calibrations came before any chores.

Chet turned toward the latrine, hands in his pockets and shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world were resting on his back. Before he made another step, he heard the deep rumble of Hank's voice near him.

"Chet, I'd like to see you in my office before you get started, Pal."

Chet turned in the direction of his captain but his eyes were shooting flaming daggers at the thin paramedic who stood pulling the drug and IV boxes out of their compartments. He could tell that Johnny was deliberately avoiding looking at him and he refused to allow him any form of comfort with the deed; Chet's eyes stared at Johnny, unblinking as he walked slowly to the captain's office, then closed the door behind him.

Roy pulled out the orange biophone, noticing the worry creases on his partner's face. While Johnny began counting supplies in the IV box, he verified that the biophone was functioning properly by contacting the base station at Rampart General Hospital. Once that task was completed and the biophone returned to its compartment, he and Johnny kneeled down beside the passenger's side door of the squad and began counting out their drug supplies.

Roy quickly realized that Johnny wasn't saying any more than was necessary to complete the checks. His eyes darted back and forth as he watched the younger man count the same handful of syringes two times without realizing it. When his partner reached in picking up the same group of syringes for the third time, Roy grabbed him by the wrist.

"Johnny…you've already counted them," he said.

Johnny looked up, puzzlement shadowing his thin features. "You sure?"

"Yea…twice already," Roy said, gently guiding Johnny's hand back to the section of the box where the syringes were stored. "What's wrong?"

Johnny leaned a forearm on his raised knee, squinting at the closed captain's door. He already knew how Roy felt about his desire to intervene where Chet was concerned. He didn't want to hear another lecture from the senior medic about how it was none of his business. However, as usual, his expressions spoke for him giving him away.

Roy shook his head in frustration. "Damn it, Johnny…you did it, didn't you?"

"I did something to try to help him…if that's what you mean."

Roy's face reddened as he looked away for a moment. When he felt that he'd regained his composure, he turned back to his partner. "You can't run to Cap like a little kid who got pushed down on the playground."

Johnny held his breath and bit the inside of his lower lip to keep from saying something he might regret later. When he tasted blood, he loosened his bite and inhaled very slowly. "Roy…I'm not actin' like some little kid and this sure as hell isn't some playground." He opened his arms up wide looking around the inside of the station. "This is Kelly we're talkin' about here…our friend…our coworker..."

"A grown man," Roy interjected. "A grown man who might have had a little too much to drink last night but he's still an adult who's at work on time and ready to haul a hose if the tones sound."

"He might've?" Johnny's snort of exasperation did nothing to dampen his partner's anger.

"What? You think he's not fit for duty? That's Cap'n Stanley's call…not yours!" Roy's voice rose a little louder than he'd intended and he suddenly realized that he was pointing a finger at his partner's chest.

"Well whose call will it be when his 'fatigue'," Johnny said making quotation marks in the air, "gets Marco hurt or…or one of us 'cause we hadta go in and drag his ass out? Or worse…what if a victim…"

Roy rubbed his forehead with his fingers, beads of perspiration popping out above his lip and brow. He had to stop Johnny's rant before the younger man popped the vein that was suddenly bulging near his temple. "Stop it, Johnny…just stop it!"

The shock of hearing his long-time partner and friend yell at him in anger immediately sealed Johnny's lips and halted his train of thought. He stared at Roy in disbelief, willing his vocal chords to respond appropriately. But before he could find his voice, Roy spoke up.

"Now what you did was wrong and you know it. You interfered with Chet's life and now you've given Cap cause to worry about one of us and he's got enough on his mind with all his responsibilities. You don't even realize what you've done…do you?"

Johnny slammed the black lid closed on the drug box, staring at his partner as he clicked the locks in place. "I tried to help him," he said through clenched teeth standing up with a firm grip on the box, "same thing I'd want somebody to do for me."

Roy once again grabbed the younger man by the wrist jerking his arm as he pulled the box back down onto the concrete floor, aware that they had not completed the inventory. "We're not finished yet."

Johnny didn't understand the nonchalant attitude Roy was displaying regarding their shift mate. His anger was beginning to surface and try as he might he was struggling to control it. "Oh, we're finished Roy…believe me," he growled dropping the black box for Roy to finish counting and backing up with both hands raised at shoulder level, palms facing his partner, "we're finished."

Roy shook his head and released a breath as he watched his partner, his friend, storm away from him. He didn't like being at odds with Johnny but he just couldn't agree with the younger man on this particular decision. He returned to the box on the floor, clicking it open and finishing the inventory; he hoped Johnny would realize what he'd done and apologize to Chet before the rift he'd caused became a chasm.

Johnny shoved his way through the kitchen door, determination and anger battling for dominance within his soul. _What's happened to you, Roy? Has the job made you so callused you can't even see when your station brother is in trouble? _He slammed the drain stopper into the sink then turned on the hot water. He dispensed more dishwashing liquid than was necessary into the warm water then yanked a dishcloth from its place in the drawer. He stepped back for a moment leaning both hands against the cabinet and jutting one hip out as his head sank down. The steam from the hot running water rose from the sink creating a wave of heat drifting in his direction. He continued to stare at the floor waiting for the sink to fill when a soft hand on his shoulder caused him to lift his head.

Marco had quietly witnessed the exchange between the paramedics and that along with Chet's earlier comment about the muzzle had put together the puzzle pieces creating the image he saw standing before the sink. He poured out the remnants of a couple of coffee cups, placing them into the sudsy water and turned off the faucet before placing a reassuring hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"I'm worried about him too," he said softly, looking around to make sure the man about whom he spoke was not in the room.

Johnny looked up, raising an arching eyebrow in silent question. "You are?"

Marco pressed his lips together, the thin line nearly disappearing beneath his dark mustache. "Yes…I see it too." He released his hand from Johnny's shoulder as the younger man stood more erect at hearing that he was not alone in his concern.

"Then…why haven't you talked to him?"

Marco felt the sting from Johnny's words but realized that his agitation was at the situation, not Marco. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. "John…I've tried, I swear I have but…he just denies anything's going on?"

Johnny blew out a breath, turning his face towards the ceiling briefly as he allowed his body to relax slightly. He felt relief in knowing that he was not the only person on A-shift that was sensing Chet's self-destruction. He then continued the conversation Marco had started. "I'm sorry, man. I..ah…I just got Roy naggin' me about stayin' out of it and," he huffed again searching for the right words. "Makes me kinda worry that I'm wrong but, Marco…I…I think he's drinkin'…a lot."

Marco reached into the water and began washing the few dishes that were soaking. "Most all firemen drink, Johnny."

"Yea…but, they don't come to work lookin' like shit," he pointed a thin hand in the direction of the apparatus bay, "and he has been…for a while now." Johnny suddenly felt like perhaps Marco wasn't seeing the same things he was seeing after all.

Marco rinsed the coffee cups then left them in the drain to dry. "Exactly, Gage." He reached over turning off the water before looking back at the paramedic, "I agree with you….but I think we're the only ones seeing it."

Johnny was glad that someone else believed him. His brown eyes darted back and forth between Marco's dark ones as he processed the information Marco had just given him. "Mike?"

Marco shook his head negatively, "nope…said Chet just looked like he was over doing it when he was off."

"Yea," Johnny huffed, his voice laced with sarcasm, "he's over doin' it a'right." He wanted to discuss this further with Marco but the sound of the tones calling out the squad interrupted their conversation. "Later?" he asked with raised eyebrows and was rewarded with an affirmative nod as Marco returned to the sink to finish the task the two of them had started.

E!

"Have a seat, Chet." Hank motioned for the lineman to sit down in the chair as he propped a hip on the corner of his desk. He wanted to put a bit of pressure on the younger man by forcing him to look up to his superior.

Chet, however, refused to play Hank's mind game and decided to sit with his elbows propped on the arms of the chair and his ankles crossed beneath it. His eyes gazed downward into his lap. He was obviously expecting a thorough racking over the coals and was mentally preparing himself for it.

Hank allowed the silence between them to work its magic and watched as his subordinate began twitching his feet and stretching his fingers in obvious anticipation. After allowing the emotional torture to go on a few more moments, he finally spoke. "Chet…I'm worried about you."

"What for, Cap? I'm fine."

"Mmm hmmm, well…you don't look fine, Pal." He stared at the top of his curly haired head as the Irishman continued staring at his own lap.

"Gage doesn't know what the hell he's talkin' about and he needs to mind his own damn business."

Hank turned a little more in Chet's direction knowing that if he could make the man feel a little more defensive then he just might let something spill out in their conversation. "So…you think I called you in here because Johnny talked to me?"

Hank's tactic worked sooner than he had anticipated.

Chet's red-rimmed blue eyes looked up into the face of his captain. "I know he did…I saw him walkin' outta your office before roll call and I also heard Gage and DeSoto talkin' about me earlier."

"Aahh, so…you're pissed at both our paramedics…is that it?" Hank was a bit surprised by how easily Chet's line of thinking could be manipulated.

Chet began to relax a little, leaning back in the chair. "Nope…just that stupid nosy-ass, Gage."

"But I thought you said you'd heard both of them talking about you earlier?" Hank knew exactly what had happened earlier, having been filled in during his conversation with Johnny, and he also knew what the young lineman had meant but he was still trying to get him a bit riled up.

"I did…but it was Gage who was doing the talking…Roy was just defending me."

"Defending you how? What have you done to need defending?"

Chet's hand flew quickly to his chest at Hank's last comment. "I haven't done a thing wrong but Gage thinks I'm not fit for duty or something…hell, I don't know, Cap…you're the one he talked to so why don't you tell me…"

Hank crossed his arms over his chest but held one hand up in an effort to get Chet to lower his tone of voice. "What makes you think John thinks you aren't fit for duty? He never said anything like that to me?"

"Oh yea…well then what did he say?" The smirk on Chet's face was unmistakable.

"Kelly, you know that when one of my men comes to me to discuss something in confidence, I don't talk about it to the rest of you." Hank was hoping that his comments were sinking in with his younger lineman. He desperately wanted Chet to know that if he was in some kind of trouble that he could always count on Hank to help him.

"This is bullshit," Chet mumbled under his breath. "Cap, am I in trouble or not?"

"Have you done something to be in trouble for?" Hank threw his question back at him.

"No sir. I'm a little tired because I've been helping my landlady with some work on my off days…that's all."

Hank was torn between the two differing accounts of why Chet looked so ragged lately. He was about to continue the conversation when the tones sounded.

Chet silently thanked every known deity for calling out the station. He jumped up, only to realize that the tones were for the squad only.

"Sit back down, Chet," Hank said rather sternly. "Now, I'm only going to ask you this once so I expect an honest answer." He waited for Chet to look up and nod his agreement before he continued. "If Johnny came to me out of concern for you…could you still work with him? I need to know if my team is still intact because the lives of innocent civilians, and in fact, all our lives depend on it."

Chet locked eyes with Hank and saw the absolute sincerity in the man's face. He gulped before taking a deep breath and answering his superior as honestly as he knew how. "Sir…if Johnny came to you out of concern about me then…yes, I can still work with him. Your team is still intact, as you say."

Hank's smile sent a wave of relief through the still angry lineman. He stood up from his perch on the corner of his desk and clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. "Well then…just remember, I'm here for you if you need me…any time day or night, on shift or off."

"Yes sir, thank you." Chet said standing as Hank patted him on the shoulder. He extended his hand and was relieved by the firm handshake the two men shared. He opened the door and walked out telling himself that he had not just lied to his captain. If he believed Johnny was concerned about him then he'd be grateful for the friendship…but his insecurities were telling him that Johnny was neither concerned for his welfare nor his friend….at least, not anymore.

E!

A/N: Thank you all for reading this and especially for taking the time to review.


	3. Chapter 3

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 3

Warning: strong language

The heated disagreement between the A-shift paramedics was pushed aside as they barreled down streets busy with morning traffic; both men always took each call very seriously but when it involved a child, the sense of urgency and dread was heightened exponentially.

"Take a left at the next light," Johnny directed looking up from the book of maps he was consulting; the verbal altercation between himself and Roy pushed to the back of his mind for the moment.

As the squad made the turn, a frantic young woman stood waving her arms in front of a beige stucco duplex. As soon as Roy screeched to a stop, the woman ran over to his door. He stepped out and was surprised by her flinging herself into his arms, terrified wails ringing in his ears.

"Ma'am…ma'am?" Roy grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away enough so that he could make eye contact with her while his partner removed the biophone and drug box.

When she continued in her panic, Roy shook her slightly trying desperately to obtain information from her. "Ma'am…is it your child that's sick?"

"Ye…yes…she's," the young woman was stammering, running a nervous hand through her golden hair, "she's burning up. She was fine when she got up a few hours ago. It was earlier than usual but she was hungry so I fed her breakfast. She pla…played a while in our bedroom and then was ready for her nap. When I went to check on her she was…um, so hot and, ah… sweating."

Roy locked eyes with his partner who had also heard the symptoms the woman had described.

"Ma'am, if you'll just lead us to her, please?" Johnny's chin strap was left swinging beneath his chin as he dipped down to pick up the orange and black boxes while Roy removed the portable oxygen and IV box and followed the others inside.

"You said she ate breakfast before her nap…how's her appetite? Any vomiting?"

The young mother opened the door leading the paramedic pair inside before answering Roy's questions. "No..I mean, yes…I mean…yes, she ate normally and no she hasn't been vomiting."

The trio made their way through the small duplex to the back bedroom. "Here, she's in here…I, I just laid her down for her nap here on our bed between these pillows and…"

"Ma'am, has she been sick recently?" While waiting for an answer, Johnny set the boxes down, removing his helmet as he approached the tow-headed toddler who lay on her stomach and appeared to be sleeping peacefully on her parents' bed. He instinctively reached for her noting a bright rosy cheek turned toward him as Roy began assembling the biophone to contact Rampart.

"No, no she's been a very healthy child since she was born a year and a half ago…and she's up to date on all her immunizations…and…oh, please…help my baby," she whimpered pathetically.

Just as Johnny reached for the little girl's forehead, she turned her face over and Johnny was stunned at how warm she felt, especially her cheek. "Hey there, princess…can you wake up for me?" He gently shook the young girl as he rolled her over onto her back.

Sleepy eyes cracked open, momentarily looking up at him before lazily drifting back closed.

"Rampart, this is squad 51. How do you read?" Roy repeated the usual call phrase as he watched his partner, listening for any information he might need to share with the hospital staff.

"Unit calling in, repeat?" The disembodied voice was that of Dr. Mike Morton.

"Rampart, this is squad 51. We have a female child approximately 18 months old. She's lethargic, febrile, and she's diaphoretic. Stand by for vitals."

Johnny again shook the small girl, removing the pillows from around her so as to access her better. He looked up at the worried mother, "what's her name?"

"Cammie," the mother replied, hands clasped beneath her chin.

Big green eyes opened blinking rapidly until she finally realized that a stranger was hovering over her. Her small face wrinkled and her bottom lip and chin began to quiver as if summoning the blood curdling scream that quickly followed.

"Atta girl, Princess Cammie, wake up. I need to check ya out, ok? I won't hurt ya, sweetie," Johnny crooned, grabbing his stethoscope as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Roy held the biophone, waiting for the vitals Dr. Morton needed before orders for treatment could be issued, when suddenly he saw Johnny's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He watched as his partner lifted his hips up off the bed briefly then sat back down, the same confused expression spreading once more across his chiseled features.

"Huh?" Johnny stood up again, placing an open palm down on the bed near where he'd been sitting.

"What've you got, Johnny?" Roy was anxious for the information he needed to relay to the waiting physician.

"I dunno…um," he felt around again on the bed then released a perplexed sigh as he looked along the edges of the bed on the floor. "Hmmm…uh, ma'am, do you have an electric blanket on this bed?"

"Yes, but we only use it at night when it's cold…I haven't turned it on in…oh no!" She gasped loudly as all three adults noticed the small controller on the floor had an orange glow indicating that it was turned on a very warm setting.

Johnny stood up holding the crying infant and again felt of her face. To his relief, it was noticeably cooler than when he had first felt of it.

"51 do you have vitals?"

Roy picked up the receiver again, "Ah, stand by Rampart…this may not be an emergency after all."

"Here," Johnny handed the terrified child to her mother. "See if you can calm her down a little and then we'll see how she's doing."

Roy leaned over and clicked off the blanket as they waited for the mother's gentle rocking motion and soft humming to soothe the crying child. As soon as she had settled down, Johnny placed a thermometer beneath her small arm.

"Ma'am, I think she's probably fine but let me listen to her heart and lungs…babies can get sick pretty quickly." Johnny placed the earpieces in his ears and slowly lifted the child's shirt so as not to cause her any more anxiety. He placed the stethoscope on her chest then glanced sheepishly into the mother's eyes. "Um, I hate to ask ya this but can ya maybe not hum for just a minute?"

"Oh, sorry," she whispered, tenderly stroking the back of her daughter's head; a smile of embarrassment peeking out from behind her daughter's head.

Johnny flashed his crooked grin at the scene beside him as he listened intently to the youngster's breathing and heartbeat. His smile broadened even further when he removed the earpieces, releasing his stethoscope to dangle around his neck. "Lungs sound clear and heart sounds strong," he smiled stroking the toddler's hair. A moment later he removed the thermometer, eyes lighting up when he read it. "Less than half a degree elevated." He shook it down before returning it to its designated spot in the box while listening to Roy in the background informing Rampart of the circumstances surrounding the call.

"51, advise the mother to remove patient's clothing down to her diaper and use a wet cloth to continue cooling her down. Also, offer her plenty of fluids for the rest of the day. If she has any concerns, she should seek medical care."

"10-4… squad 51 out," Roy said calmly then began packing up the biophone.

Johnny looked over at the mother who sat crying as she pulled the small white shirt over her daughter's head. He placed a hand on her arm and felt her shaking beneath his grasp. "Are you ok?"

The mother sniffed, "yea…just happy she's ok…and," she sniffed again before continuing, "and feeling pretty stupid."

Roy spoke up, hoping to offer a little comfort. "Is she your first?" He waited for the affirmative nod he was expecting and then spoke again. "Well, there will be a few more of these incidents before she's grown. I've got two kids and…well, let's just say that kids can get into some of the darnedest predicaments."

"But, this is my fault…I mean, I don't know how but…I guess I turned it on when I was cleaning earlier."

"More than likely, your little one was doing a little exploring. You did say she was playing in here before her nap," he grinned at the big round eyes looking at him, hovering over a pouty mouth sucking her thumb; her head was leaning contentedly against her mother's chest. "I'll bet you she turned it on herself."

"I never thought of that," the mother replied, dabbing her dampened cheek with the back of her hand. "Larry, my husband, was watching her while he was getting ready for work. He had to catch an early flight so our day started earlier than usual. I was getting breakfast ready while they were in here."

"Well then…just blame it on Larry," Roy said with a mood-improving chuckle.

"And don't ever feel stupid for callin' us out. These are the kind o' runs we like…happy endings with no illness or injury," Johnny said with a big smile hoping that he and Roy could help her regain her maternal confidence.

"Well, thank you…thank you both."

"You're welcome," Roy said softly.

"No problem at all," Johnny chimed in as he and Roy packed up their equipment and returned to the squad.

E!

Hank exited his office behind Chet, watching the younger man make his way to the latrine to begin his assigned chores. Feeling assured that his lineman was doing alright, he made the turn into the kitchen. After the two conversations he'd already had this morning, he knew he needed a strong cup of coffee to face whatever the remainder of the shift brought.

He poured an extra half scoop of ground coffee into the coffee filter then began the percolation process. He stood up a little straighter with a hint of confusion on his face. "Marco?"

"Yes," the lineman said acknowledging his superior's call as he put away the last of the dishes he was drying.

"I distinctly remember assigning Gage kitchen duty."

"Oh," he said laying the dish towel across the empty dish drain. "Well, he and I were talking when the squad got called out so I just finished up what he had started." He turned to begin straightening up the day room when Hank stopped him.

"Talking? About your partner, by any chance?"

Marco stopped in his tracks; his back still to his captain. He gritted his teeth not wanting to answer the question but knowing Hank would see through any attempt at deception. "Um, yes…yes we were, Cap." He slowly turned around shoving his nervous hands into his pockets while he looked in the general direction of Hank but not directly at him.

Hank closed the gap between the two of them. "So…what do you think, Marco? You're closer to him than any of the rest of us."

A deep sigh was expelled from Marco's lips buying him a couple of extra moments to gather his thoughts. Finally, his dark eyes probed his superior's face searching for understanding and affirmation. "Something's wrong, Cap. I know he says he's just tired from helping out around his apartment complex but, I don't know…I'm just not buying it."

"So…Johnny isn't the only one, huh?" Hank pulled out a chair from the table; his head was beginning to throb and he desperately needed the extra dose of caffeine he was preparing.

"No…he and I both see it…but, uh…guess we're the only ones…unless you see it too." His comment was intended as a question.

Hank's silence told Marco that his captain wasn't going to take the verbal bait he had dangled. He knew that if he and Johnny were going to find another ally…a very strong ally…then he had to convince the older man. "Cap," he began, pulling out a chair beside Hank, "it's not just his appearance and mood either."

Hank looked up, deep concern furrowed his brow. "What else?"

Marco looked around to make sure they were still alone. "Cap, he has no social life anymore. He hasn't had a date in months now."

A smile tugged at Hank's lips and Marco saw the light return to his eyes. "Well, that might explain things." Hank leaned forward patting his older lineman on the shoulder. "I'm glad you mentioned that. Maybe all he needs is some quality time with the right young woman." He emphasized his response with a knowing wink then stood up to get the cup of coffee he had needed since he first arrived at the station.

"Cap," Marco spoke up seeing only Hank's back as the lanky man poured himself a hot cup of the regenerating liquid, "his lack of….uh, I mean, I don't think his celibacy is the problem."

Hank took a quick sip, grimacing when he burned his tongue slightly. "Might be. After all, he is a young healthy male, Lopez." He sat back down leaning back in his chair with a broad grin on his face. "Besides…it's not just you younger men who get cranky without it," he said with a knowing smile and a quick wiggle of his eyebrows, blowing on his cup of coffee before trying to take a second sip. When Marco didn't respond as Hank thought he should, the older man leaned forward returning his cup to the table. "Ok…this is really serious isn't it?"

"Yes sir," Marco said glancing at the top of the table. "I'm really worried about him."

Hank sensed that there was more on Marco's mind than what he was revealing. He stared at the worried man for a few minutes allowing him time to say more. When he didn't, Hank spoke again. "Alright, I know you're a very level headed fellow so if you're worried then I know I should be too. But, I honestly don't know what's going on and he isn't telling me anything other than the same story you're getting. Any ideas?"

Marco pressed his lips together in a thin line, more as a means of withholding his suspicions than a sign of frustration. Hank was his captain and he respected and admired him. But Chet was his partner and he felt like he owed it to him to try to confirm what was going on instead of blurting out what he thought might be wrong with him. He was glad that Johnny had already informed Hank about the possibility that Chet had developed a drinking problem. At least his captain knew something was going on but Marco just couldn't bring himself to say anything…not yet anyway.

"Marco? You with me, pal?"

Marco looked up at the sound of Hank's voice calling his name and realized that he had been lost in thought. "Oh…sorry, Cap. Uh, no I…I don't know."

"Hmmm…I see," Hank rubbed his chin briefly as he contemplated this latest information. "Well, do me a favor will ya?"

"Sure."

"Talk to him, please. And let me know if I need to intervene or…or if you think he isn't able to do the job."

Marco acknowledged the request with a simple nod of his head. He didn't bother telling Hank that he'd tried multiple times to talk to Chet but his partner just wasn't saying much about his personal life…and he certainly wasn't admitting to any problems other than fatigue. He heard the scraping of the chair as Hank pushed away from the table.

"Thanks," he said walking out the kitchen door leaving Marco sitting alone.

Marco scowled propping his elbows on the table and resting his face in his hands; swearing uncharacteristically into his palms. "Damn it!" He scrubbed his face with his hands then stood up to finish his chore assignment. Mentally, he crossed both Roy and Captain Stanley off his list of possible assistants. He had already had a preliminary conversation with Mike which had not been encouraging; he just hoped that perhaps he and Johnny could change their engineer's mind. If Hank was going to be 'walking the fence' for a while, then maybe they could persuade his second in command to do something.

E!

Mike was sweeping the dorm room when he heard loud banging noises coming from the latrine. He silently opened the door between the rooms just to make sure Chet was alright. He knew the lineman had been called into Hank's office before beginning his chores. He didn't want to put himself in the middle of whatever might be going on between their captain and his lineman. In his position as engineer, he couldn't be pulled into taking sides during a disciplinary action – if in fact that was what was going on.

Chet's anger at Johnny was only making the throbbing in his head more pronounced. He shoved the mop handle against the wall hard enough that it bounced off and fell to the floor. "Sonofabitch," he moaned adding a swift kick to the wooden handle sending it sliding on the bathroom floor landing beneath the sinks. "Who the hell does he think he is anyway? So he has some specialized training; so what? 'S not like he's a damn doctor! He's just a freakin' paramedic who thinks he knows what's…."

Mike was alarmed by Chet's rambling discussion with no one and decided to intervene before he damaged himself or some inanimate object within the station. "Hey, you ok Kelly?"

Chet's reddened face looked around for the source of the question. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't realized he'd been talking out loud. He propped both hands on his hips, inhaling a deep breath then blowing out his cheeks as he stared at the floor; he could really use a friend at the moment and right now, it seemed like Mike might be the only person he could turn to. "Yea…yea, I guess. Gage just really pissed me off this morning 's all."

Having already briefly discussed the situation with Marco on a previous shift, Mike had an idea of what was going on. As he stood there watching Chet struggle to find the words he wanted to use, he couldn't help but notice the circles underneath his blood shot eyes. "So, what'd John do to fire you up?"

"He…he went to Cap," Chet began with animated hands reminding Mike of the man who had instigated his fury, "and told him I had some kinda problem or somethin'….hell, I don't know what he told him." Chet stepped to his locker, opening the door and digging through his duffle bag for his bottle of aspirin. He popped two in his mouth and gagged as he forced his throat to dry swallow the bitter pills.

"Gave you a headache, huh?" Mike immediately felt foolish for stating the obvious but he was hoping Chet might open up a little and either confirm or deny the thoughts Marco had planted in Mike's brain during their talk.

"Yea…I hate it when he does that….I mean, can't a guy help an old lady out without it landing him in his captain's office?" Chet finally looked up at Mike who was leaning his hips against a sink, arms crossing his chest.

"I don't understand…how'd that get you in trouble with Cap?" Mike relaxed a little, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Chet shook his curly haired head in obvious exasperation. "I wish I knew, Stoker. I mean…ok, so I'm a little tired and I've lost some sleep lately. It's just 'cause I'm helping Ms. Hankins do some minor repair work around our place. She's gonna give me a break on my rent so I figured it'd be worth the headache….damn sure didn't plan on it turning into a federal case at the station though."

Mike briefly contemplated the situation as he knew it. Looking at Chet, he could understand why Johnny might have gone to Hank and he also understood why Marco had brought it up too. But now, listening to Chet's explanation, he thought that what the lineman had said made perfect sense. He waited a few moments to make sure Chet had calmed down.

"I gotta get busy…don't wanna do anything else to piss Cap off," he said flinching with a hiss as he stood on his sore foot; a move that did not go unnoticed by the other man in the room.

"Chet?" Mike pushed his hips off the sink he'd been leaning against and took a step in his friend's direction. "You hurt?"

"No, no…just did some scraping off of the old paint along the eaves," he lied more convincingly than he thought he could," guess I overworked my lower back muscles a little." He looked up at the taller man, forcing a smile to replace the pain-filled grimace. "The aspirin'll help. Thanks, man."

Mike watched him walk over to the sinks and reach underneath, grabbing the handle of the mop and pulling it out so he could begin his assignment. Mike noticed that Chet seemed to have no problem bending down but he thought he noticed a slight limp as the still angry Irishman took a few steps toward the wall where he began mopping the floor. _Guess if I'd been scraping paint off the eaves of my apartment building then my back might ache too._

He walked back to the dorm to finish what he'd been assigned to do. But while he worked his way from bed to bed changing the sheets, his mind kept replaying the conversation over and over and over again…something wasn't right about Chet's story…he just couldn't quite figure it out.

E!


	4. Chapter 4

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 4

Roy cast a glance in the direction of his partner as he drove the squad back to the station. He knew Johnny was angry with him about their earlier disagreement regarding their lineman but he couldn't help how he felt about the situation. In his opinion, Johnny was over-reacting and he simply could not go along with him when he tried to pull Roy into some sort of intervention on Chet's behalf. Roy's personal values included a man's right to privacy and until he saw something to make him think that Chet was in trouble, he would not interfere in the lineman's life.

But now that he and Johnny were alone in the squad and their attention was no longer focused on a child's health crisis, he began to feel badly for how he had treated Johnny on this particular morning. He wanted to do or say something to repair the damage he'd done to their friendship.

"Johnny," he began, pulling the squad to a stop at a traffic light. "You really handled that well back there." He hoped the compliment would set a pleasant tone for the conversation leading into an apology.

Johnny pressed his lips together tightly, eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at his partner. He quickly returned his gaze back to the windshield before he spoke. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"Nothing…just that you really did a good job with Cammie." Roy pushed down the exasperation he was feeling thinking that he really didn't deserve the attitude his partner was throwing back at him.

"Oh, so you're the only one who can handle kids?" Johnny felt the tension building as he spoke. He shifted in his seat until he could see his partner better then splayed an open hand on his chest. "Just 'cause I don't have any kids you think I don't know how to handle them?"

Roy immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut. It was obvious that Johnny was not willing to accept a compliment, even a genuine one, without assuming that Roy was patronizing him. "Junior, I was just…"

"And that's another thing…I'm not much younger than you and you only have a few weeks more training as a paramedic than me so why the hell do you keep callin' me Junior? I mean, I AM the one who performed the first authorized medical treatment in the field."

"Ok," Roy began through clenched teeth, "it's just a nickname. I apologize for calling you Junior. I will not call you that again, Mr. Gage." Roy immediately regretted his own sarcastic remark.

Johnny ran a hand through his mussed up hair then slapped his knee. "Oh, great…so now I'm Mr. Gage? You're worse than Brice! Why can't I just be Johnny or John or Gage, huh?"

"Well, somehow I've managed to upset you this morning without meaning to and now I'm really trying not to piss you off!" Roy could feel his face reddening.

"Well it's a little late for that…Mr. DeSoto," he spat out as Roy shifted into reverse to back into the station.

"I know, alright? And I'm sorry." Roy looked into his side view mirror to back into the bay, thankful that it gave him an excuse to look away from his angry partner.

The wheels in Johnny's brain turned quickly thinking of a way for Roy to make it up to him. "Sorry enough to help me with Chet?" Johnny asked as the squad slowly came to a stop in its designated place beside the engine.

"Yes, if and when he asks for it. Or if something happens to make me think he's a danger to himself or someone else." Roy's response was spoken more forcefully than he'd intended.

"By then it'll be too late," Johnny mumbled leaning forward slightly waiting for the squad to stop. "Besides, Marco agrees with me…and he's closer to Chet than any of the rest of us."

Roy gulped at the news that someone other than his hyperactive over-reacting partner thought that something might be wrong with Chet. "How do you know?"

"He told me," Johnny said rolling his eyes. "I do have friends, ya know."

Roy shifted into park then looked over at his partner. "Johnny, I know you have friends…I'm one of them; I was just wondering how it came up in conversation and what has Marco seen that makes him think something's wrong?"

Johnny released a sarcastic chuckle with a half-smile that was more of a smirk. "So you'll believe Marco but not me; is that it?"

"No, but…"

Johnny reached for the door handle, hesitating momentarily. "Do me a favor, Roy; if something ever happens to me to make you think I need help…don't even bother." He slammed the door shut; his long strides taking him quickly to the kitchen to finish the chores their call had interrupted.

Roy sighed, leaning over the hood of the squad hanging his head as the echo of Johnny's rapid footfalls faded. He'd never intended to upset his partner and certainly hadn't meant for his efforts at an apology to backfire on him. He was lost in thought when his engineer rounded the front of the engine after completing his dorm chores.

"Hey, Roy; how'd it go with the kid?"

Roy looked up in the direction of Mike's approaching voice. He stood straighter then leaned a hip against the squad. He gave a brief chuckle as he thought of the source of little Cammie's febrile episode.

"Oh, she's fine. The little girl apparently decided to play with the electric blanket controller for her parents' bed just before her mom put her down for her morning nap." He waited for Mike to catch on but when he didn't see recognition on his engineer's face, he decided to continue. "It was on high so her mother thought she had gotten sick suddenly with a high fever."

"Oh no…poor mom," Mike said with a slight snicker, imagining the fear the young woman must have endured.

"Yea, she was really panicky but," he chuckled again softly, "you shoulda seen the look on Johnny's face when he sat down on that bed to examine the toddler. He was like a cat on a hot tin roof."

Mike knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "Say, where is he anyway?" Mike looked around realizing the man whose antics Roy was describing was nowhere to be seen.

Roy blew out his cheeks before he answered; a gesture Mike thought he understood. "In the kitchen, I guess."

"Something wrong?" Mike had not missed the sarcasm in Roy's voice and facial expressions.

Roy looked around making sure there was no one listening to this conversation. When he returned his eyes back to Mike, he lowered his voice as a precaution. "I don't know. Somehow I managed to infuriate him this morning." Roy didn't expound on the conversation since it involved a fellow crew mate.

Mike thought back to his conversation with Chet in the latrine while the paramedics were on their run. "Wonder what's going on with him? Seems he made Chet pretty mad before roll call." He tossed a glance back in the direction of the latrine where he knew Chet was still cleaning up.

"He talked to you about it?"

"Who, Chet or Johnny?" Mike asked, a bit puzzled by Roy's question.

"Chet. I've already talked to Johnny about what he thinks is going on with Kelly and that's when I pissed Gage off." Roy realized he was talking about the situation whether he wanted to or not.

"He mentioned Johnny talking to Cap about him earlier today." Mike leaned an elbow on the hood of the squad. "Says Johnny thinks he has some kind of a problem or something but he insists he's just tired from working for his landlady."

Roy nodded in agreement; his eyes drifting down on the shiny red hood as his mind wandered back to his initial conversation with Johnny while they were doing their morning equipment checks. "What do you think, Mike?"

Mike hesitated searching for the right answer. "Makes sense to me, I guess. If I spent my off days scraping and painting the eaves of my building I'd be tired too. What do you think?"

Roy quickly lifted and lowered his eyebrows before he answered. "I told Johnny that I thought he was over-reacting; he was jumping to conclusions which he does do sometimes but," he stopped to take a breath, staring back down at the hood. "But on the way back to the station he said something that has me second guessing myself now."

"What'd he say?" Mike was also looking for an answer to the nagging suspicion floating around in his brain. Something Chet had said was weighing on him as being not quite right but he just couldn't figure it out.

"He said that Marco agreed with him…and none of the rest of us is as close to him as Lopez."

Mike released a low whistle. "Yea…I just hope whatever it is it gets resolved before anything bad happens," he said standing back up and lightly slapping the hood. "I need a cup of coffee."

"Me too," Roy responded in agreement to both of Mike's comments.

E!

Johnny's heart rate was still elevated from his exchange with Roy on the way back from their run. He hurried into the kitchen to finish the dishes he had left soaking when they were toned out. Standing in front of the sink, he stared into the clean stainless basin. "Huh?"

He then removed the dish towel from over the dish drain and realized that the cups that had been left drying were back in their proper places in the cabinet. "How the…," he began quizzically, turning to face Marco who was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. "Marco?"

"Yes," the older man answered folding up the newspaper.

"Did you, uh…" Johnny arched an eyebrow in the lineman's direction.

Marco's chuckle at Johnny's confused expression caused the paramedic to relax a little. "Yes."

"Aww, thanks man," Johnny said, his shoulders relaxing. He stepped over to the refrigerator and cabinets to ensure he had all the ingredients needed for the tuna casserole he was going to make for dinner. "You didn't have to do my chores but I really appreciate it."

"No problem. The dayroom was pretty much in order so I figured I'd finish what you started. It's been quiet for us," he said looking in Johnny's direction while gently massaging Henry's long ears.

Johnny opened his mouth to say more just as Mike pushed open the kitchen door and halted midway between the bay and the kitchen. Johnny cringed as he heard Chet calling Roy's name and felt a slight sense of relief when his partner turned to follow Chet back into the latrine. At least he wouldn't have to worry about a continuation of their earlier unproductive conversations.

E!

Chet swore under his breath as he emptied out the mop bucket. His injured foot was throbbing and he knew he needed to clean and bandage it properly. He pushed open the door of the latrine to return the mop bucket to the janitor's closet just as Mike entered the kitchen. He noted that Roy was only a couple of steps behind the engineer. Quickly, he called out to the paramedic he had overheard defending him a couple of hours earlier.

"Hey, DeSoto?"

Mike and Roy both turned in unison as Roy responded to the sound of his name.

"Yea."

"I need a medical opinion on something please." Chet didn't want anyone else to know about his foot and even though he felt like Mike could be trusted, he also knew that he was within hearing range of Johnny and Marco.

Roy flashed a smile at the perspiring young man. "Then maybe you should call a doctor."

"C'mon, man. It's just a quick question, alright?"

Roy turned back to Mike who was standing in the open doorway. "Go ahead, I'll be right back, Mike."

Roy followed Chet into the locker room noting a slight limp in the shorter man's gait. "What's going on?"

Chet sat down on the bench in front of the paramedics' lockers wondering briefly if he was about to do the right thing. The last thing he needed was to do anything that might change Roy's mind about him. He turned to the side raising his right leg onto the bench just as the tones sounded.

"_Station 51, commercial fire alarm at 4723, East 221__st__ street, that's 4-7-2-3, East 221st street, cross street Grace Ave. Time out, 1058 hours."_

Hank acknowledged dispatch as his crew assembled from opposite sides of the station. "KMG-365."

Hank tore off the slip of paper, passing it to Roy as they passed each other on the driver's side of the squad. Johnny tightened his chin strap then reached over for the address slip Roy was handing him; neither man spoke to the other as they watched the bay door rise.

Mike donned his turnout coat then climbed into the driver's seat of the engine. He watched Hank make long strides in front of the engine on his way to the officer's seat. He glanced briefly into the side view mirror noting Marco leaping into his seat then turned looking over his shoulder waiting for the only remaining crew member not yet on board. The four of them usually mounted the engine in a well- choreographed routine. Normally, Hank was the last to climb in just as Roy pulled the squad out of the bay but today Chet's boarding took a few beats longer than usual.

_Maybe Johnny's on to something, _Mike thought to himself as he accelerated into yielding traffic closing the unusually long distance between the squad and engine as the crew from Station 51 rushed to the scene of the blaze.


	5. Chapter 5

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 5

The alley beside the hair salon was strewn with discarded fast food bags, pieces of old newspapers and various other debris tossed aside by careless people or which blew out of the open trash cans standing sentinel at the street corners. With the exception of the assortment of rodent life, rarely did anyone venture down the darkened corridor except the occasional homeless person in search of a dark quiet place to seek refuge from the elements. The stack of cardboard boxes heaped haphazardly along the walls prevented the local patrons from seeing them as they went about their daily hustle and bustle. The light brown stacks of discarded container board also hid the small bags of garbage left behind by those unwilling to walk the half block distance to the closest city garbage can. No one heard the sizzling and popping noises at the back of the alley and no one saw the tiny orange flame that flickered to life from the transformer high atop the power pole obscured near the dead end street that ran along the back of the salon.

The heat generated by the flame began to do its damage and soon large drops, a mixture of oil and rubber, each adorned with a flame began to slowly drip down amid the litter below. The occasional wind gust swirled the debris around the alley until fate delivered a 'Missing Dog' poster to the mouth of one of the flaming black balls deposited on the broken asphalt. Hungrily, the flame ate its way through the sign, inching delicately toward the next piece of fuel that lay in its path. And no one walking past the alley entrance knew what insidious beast was growing in their midst.

E!

"Harriet! You don't mean it!"

The new redhead looked up from her perch in her beautician's chair. "Why indeed I do, Clara. I heard it from Juanita who got it from Madeline's cousin's brother in law," the brunette leaned forward, much to the exasperation of her stylist. "So you know it must be true!"

A gray haired woman in her late sixties who was leaning back with her head in the washbasin spoke up even though she had not been included in the original conversation. "I heard his wife was seeing that new pastor down at the community church."

The stylist washing her hair stopped massaging her scalp as her eyes bugged out in horror. "No…are you sure? I mean, Pastor Thomas' wife, Arlene, gets her hair done in here every Friday afternoon."

"Well now," the older lady began, clasping her hands around her rotund mid-section. "I'm not one to gossip you know…but I suppose if it's truth then it isn't gossip now is it?"

"No ma'am, I suppose not."

"Well then, all I have to say is that you probably shouldn't ever give an appointment to that floozy, Helen on a Friday afternoon when Mrs. Thomas' is coming in. Now that would just be something for all the nosey busybodies in this neighborhood to talk about." She sat upright as her stylist patted a white towel on her curly gray hair. She angled her round face to the side, lifting her nose in the air and sniffing in an exaggerated manner. "Beatrice?"

"Yes ma'am?" The young girl responded tossing the towel in the half full bin in the corner and reaching for another one.

"When did Mabel start allowing ladies to smoke in this place?"

"Oh, no ma'am…we can't allow anyone to smoke in here," the young stylist corrected. "We have a lot of chemicals and other stuff that's really flammable so…"

"Then what's that I smell?"

E!

Marco pressed his lips into a thin line, a symbolic mixture of frustration and concern for his fellow lineman. He'd watched Chet grimace when he stepped up into his jump seat and although the Irishman's mouth was partially obscured by his thick mustache, the four letter word he silently mouthed was easily recognized by the older man. Now, as they rumbled along the streets with their siren warning of their impending arrival, he couldn't help but wonder what his partner was going through. What demons had taken up residence inside his soul strangling the life out of his normally jovial partner and friend? He briefly stole a glimpse to his left but only saw the back of Chet's head. Obviously, the young man had no desire to even look in Marco's direction. Deep in his gut, he knew that Johnny had done the right thing by going to their captain even if it caused a rift between the men of Station 51. Just as Mike pulled the engine up to the hydrant, Marco decided that he too needed to talk to their captain and fill him in on what he knew. Chet's anger at having the trust between them broken was not nearly as troubling as Marco's concerns for his partner's future.

"Station 51 on scene," Hank's deep voice spoke into the radio.

Chet and Marco dismounted the engine, Marco pulling hose while Chet hit the red and yellow hydrant with a supply line. Pain skipped about inside his body alternating between his head and his right foot but he had a job to do and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear the blurriness as he connected the supply line to the hydrant and watched for Mike's signal to open it up.

John exited the squad, pulling open the compartment holding his turnouts and quickly pulled the jacket on, adjusting his gloves as he made his way to the place where Mike and Marco stood waiting for instructions. His head swiveled around in search of smoke or flames but saw nothing except the sign above the door. His brain registered the irony of the words in gold and crimson identifying the business and he silently mouthed the name.

_Hair Today, Comb Tomorrow_

"If Chet doesn't make some lame comment about this place then I'll know something's the matter with him for sure," he said in a loud whisper to the group as they continued their preparations.

Marco's lips quirked up slightly as he gave Johnny a quick nod of agreement. He noted the grimace and head shake Roy gave their engineer when they exchanged knowing glances. Obviously, Roy and Mike did not agree with Johnny and Marco about their fellow shift mate.

Roy looked around at the array of women in black capes, curlers and mussed up hair; each one was in a different stage of the beautification process. On any other day, he would have expected Johnny to make a comment about them but in his present state of mind, Roy knew there would be little if any follow up conversation regarding their frightening appearance.

Hank searched for the owner of the hair salon unsure of who might fit that description. "Ma'am?" He tapped a woman on the shoulder whose hair was neatly pinned in place. "Is everyone out?"

The smeared mascara beneath the young woman's eyes made her green orbs seem to glow. "Yes, I…I just can't imagine what happened. Everything seemed fine and then we…we all smelled something burning."

"Did you see any smoke or flames?" Hank was eyeballing the surroundings as he listened for her answer.

"No…just this sickening burning smell…but we got lots of chemicals in there," she responded pointing a bright pink manicured index finger in the direction of the salon.

"Ok, where's the breaker panel?" Hank figured he knew where the source of the acrid burning smell was coming from but he knew not to take any chances with the supplies in the salon.

"Um…back wall."

No sooner had the words been spoken than Hank spun around on his heels and loped over to his crew, shouting instructions. "Listen up, men…Marco, Chet…lay an inch and half near the doorway and get into position." He turned in a half circle making eye contact with his paramedics. Knowing their skills as medics wouldn't likely be needed at this scene, he gave them a reconnaissance assignment. "Gage, DeSoto…lady here says there're no visible flames or smoke but describes an electrical burning smell…see if you can find the source…circuit breaker panel's on the back wall."

Determination anchored itself on Chet's face as he took the lead on the hose. He waited for Marco to back him up then the two of them moved in unison to position themselves to cool off the interior or knock down the flames – whichever problem presented itself. He had been in this position many times and knew exactly what to do and when to do it. He felt his shirts sticking to his back as perspiration ran down his spine. His vision blurred again as he swiped at the stinging sweat streaming down his forehead between his eyebrows and into the inside corners of his blood shot blue eyes. His ears began to ring when suddenly the hard tapping on his shoulder by his partner drew his attention back to the salon.

Inside, Roy made his way to the back of the elongated building with Johnny on his heels. The senior man removed a glove, lightly taping the metal exterior of the circuit breaker panel just to make sure it wasn't hot. Finding it cool to the touch, he quickly opened it and began shutting off the power to the rest of the salon.

Johnny's eyes scanned the interior of the salon in search of the smoldering menace every firefighter despised. He followed Roy's lead to the back of the salon and while Roy took care of shutting off the breakers, he made his way to the partially opened window. The burning scent became stronger as he got closer to the flapping curtains. His curiosity got the better of him and he stuck his head out of the window and gasped as a ball of black molten rubber seemed to drop from the sky onto the asphalt a few feet away from his head. He tilted his head, eyes squinting as he looked upwards then quickly jerked his head back inside the salon.

"Found it, Roy…transformer flaming up out here," he said nodding his head in the direction of the open window.

Roy reached inside his turnout pocket and withdrew the handy talkie. "HT 51 to engine 51."

"Engine 51, what've ya got, Roy?"

Roy watched Johnny close the window and then followed him back towards the entrance of the salon. "Cap, inside is clear but there's a transformer on fire in the alley on the east side of this building."

"10-4, I'll get dispatch to contact the power company," Hank replied then began shouting orders to the remainder of his crew as he walked over to the engine and keyed up the mic. "LA, engine 51…dispatch the power company to our incident."

"10-4, 51," replied Sam Lanier.

Roy exited the glass door and jogged to his captain. "Cap, there's a lot of trash in that alley…looks like some of it's already burning."

Hank turned to his linemen, "Marco, Chet…hit the alley with some fog…got to get it damp without blasting it around…that transformer's still hot…power company's on the way."

Both men nodded their understanding and began moving the inch and a half around the corner of the building.

"Roy, Johnny…take the back side of the building and make sure there's no hot spots back there. It's windy and I don't want any surprises on the back side of this thing."

"On it, Cap."

"Got it," Johnny echoed his partner as both men headed around the back of the building using the side opposite the alley.

E!

Roy loped to the corner nearest the still smoldering transformer searching for drifting embers and using his boots to stamp out the tiny flames drifting along the back side of the building and sneaking up the deserted alley. Johnny followed suit, grateful that there was only a few such rogue flames rolling about aimlessly in the light breeze. Each man was well aware of the danger zone and remained well beyond the reach of the dripping flames. Eyes like eagles kept glancing upwards ensuring that the power lines attached to the transformer weren't being compromised. Neither man wanted to face hot power lines falling around them; especially with their linemen manning a hose less than fifty yards away.

Roy and Johnny completed their task behind the building in silence then began working their way up the alley. They managed to stay close enough to the buildings on either side of the alley so as not to endanger themselves from the flaming molten drops; both men using their boots to suffocate any smoldering tidbits before they could spread to other areas and cause real damage.

Marco and Chet rounded the corner at the other end of the alley. Johnny locked eyes with Chet as the Irishman grabbed the bell of the nozzle preparing to fog the upper end of the alley, opposite the melting transformer, to wet any trash that might serve as fuel for the burning blobs continuing to drip onto the ancient asphalt.

Chet took a step up on the curb on his way to the alley; the action tearing open the clotted off cuts from his early morning mishap at home. A surge of pain shot up to his knee causing it to buckle just enough to make him stumble forward. In an effort to right himself, he inadvertently pulled back on the bell of the nozzle blasting a straight stream of water directly into the chest of Roy DeSoto.

Marco moved with lightning speed to shut off the hose. Subsequently, he tackled his partner causing him additional pain and earning a muffled 'shit' from the shorter lineman.

Roy, who had been looking at his feet, was caught off guard and stumbled backwards crashing into his partner who quickly grabbed him around the waste and hauled him away from the painful gush of water that had propelled him towards the dying but still dangerous transformer.

"Roy? You a'right?" Johnny asked, pulling up on the hook on the back of Roy's turnout coat.

Roy grimaced as he repeatedly opened and closed his right hand, stinging sensations burning around his knuckles. "Yea…yea," he began regaining his footing and continuing to move toward their destination. "What the hell happened?"

Johnny ignored his partner's questioning eyes. He had seen exactly what had happened but now wasn't the time or the place to discuss it with his unbelieving partner; there would be time for that later.

Marco took control of the charged line while Chet struggled to get back on his feet just as their captain reached them.

"Marco, Chet? You ok?"

Chet responded with a 'sure, Cap' as Marco cut his partner an icy glare. His previous concern for Chet's welfare was quickly being replaced by frustration bordering on anger. In their profession, they had to be able to count on each other and up until a few months ago, Marco had never once questioned one of his comrades. Now, as Chet's uncharacteristic behavior seemed to be getting worse, he no longer knew if the man could be trusted. His earlier decision to talk to Hank had morphed into an outright obligation…not just for Chet but for the citizens whom they served and the rest of their crew.

"Lopez?"

Marco looked up, suddenly realizing he'd never responded to his captain's question. "Fine," he answered through gritted teeth.

"Well, I don't know what happened but the two of you looked like the keystone cops over here. Let's make it a little more professional next time, huh?" Hank growled.

"Yessir," Chet said remorsefully. "Guess our feet got tangled up, right Marco?"

Fury like red hot magma churned through Marco's gut burning in his veins and flaring his nostrils. _How dare you try to drag me into your mistake! _"Whatever you say," Marco shrugged. _I'll deal with you later, Kelly._

Once their job was complete, he shut off the water flow without a word to Chet. He then turned back towards the engine where he caught the worried gaze of his engineer. He watched as Mike gave him an almost imperceptible understanding nod; the unspoken message conveyed between them that they needed to talk later about this incident.

Chet watched as Roy and Johnny made their way down the alley and back towards the engine, careful not to slip on the waterlogged trash. His chest hurt as he thought about what he'd done and he knew he needed to apologize for his error. He walked slowly toward the approaching duo doing his best to hide the limp his secret injury was causing.

"Hey, DeSoto...man, I'm sorry about that…I think mine and Marco's feet just got tangled up somehow and we fell. Uh, are…are you alright?"

Johnny narrowed his piercing eyes at his shiftmate; he had seen Chet stumble and knew that it had nothing whatsoever to do with Marco. He'd overheard Captain Stanley's admonishment of his linemen and wondered how Lopez had managed to remain calm while Chet implicated him in the mishap.

"Yea…I'm ok, Chet. Don't worry about it. These things happen; you didn't mean to do it." Roy dragged the back of his hand across his dripping face, never noticing the look Johnny gave the apologetic man.

Johnny's mind was a mixture of swirling confusion and anger along with a hint of relief that Roy was indeed unharmed. _These things happen? Since when? _ Was his partner so blinded by his desire to stay out of other people's personal business that he couldn't even see what was happening right in front of his eyes while they were on shift? He left Roy and Chet talking on the sidewalk and followed Marco back to the engine.

By the time he caught up with Marco, Mike and Hank were talking to the power company representative and plans were being made to finish up this run and head back to the station. Johnny eased up to Marco's side, "you a'right, Lopez?"

Marco shrugged his shoulders without ever looking up at Johnny. He pulled off his gloves then reached for his canteen; his anger having parched his mouth and throat. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"C'mon, man…I saw what really happened back there…and I heard what that asshole said," Johnny ducked his head, eyes darting around making sure no one else had heard him swear.

Marco took a long draught from the canteen, swishing the water around in his mouth before swallowing. He stared at Johnny momentarily then screwed the cap back on the container before he responded. "If he'd just tripped, I'd've been ok with it. But to lie to Captain Stanley and say that the two of us got tangled up?" Marco shook his head wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. "I don't get it, John."

Johnny leaned up against the engine peering over Marco's shoulder at Chet and Roy still conversing and smiling as though nothing had happened. He tipped his head back slightly giving Marco a nod to indicate he was about to say something about Chet. "He's over there kissin' Roy's ass now tryin' to make it up to him."

"Well, Roy isn't his only victim."

Johnny returned his gaze to Marco and saw the hurt in the older man's face. He knew all too well how Marco was feeling. True, he was mad at Roy but they could at least work together professionally. He wasn't so sure Marco and Chet could…or that they even should. "You gonna tell, Cap?"

Marco's hesitation answered Johnny's question before his words did. "You know, I think Mike saw what happened too." He knew he was avoiding answering Johnny but he also wanted the paramedic to know that maybe, just maybe, they had gained an ally in their plight. "Yea…yea, I got to….not just for Chet but for all of us."

Johnny patted Marco's shoulder reassuringly. Behind them, Mike stood with one ear listening to Hank and the power company lineman talking while also taking note of how the paramedics and linemen seemed to have aligned themselves and he didn't like the division he was seeing. Station 51's A-shift had always been a tight-knit crew; a family of six brothers. Now, it looked like the family unit might be crumbling around him. He knew that he had to talk to Marco as soon as he could about what happened with the hose. He had overheard Chet's explanation but he also knew what he'd seen…now he just needed confirmation from a couple of other men in the crew and then he'd go to Hank himself.


	6. Chapter 6

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 6

Hank stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his narrow waist. "Dinner was great, Mike," he complimented the engineer who was brushing his teeth. "Shower's all yours."

"Thanks," Mike said, wanting to say more but he hadn't yet had a chance to talk to Marco and Johnny. He stepped back to his locker to return his toothbrush and toothpaste. Collecting his personal hygiene items, he turned to head to the shower and nearly bumped into Hank. "Oh…sorry, Cap."

"When you get finished in here will you come to my office?"

Mike searched his captain's face for some idea of what this meeting might be about but the older man's face was unreadable. "Sure."

As the sudsy water washed away the grime of the day, his mind replayed the episode with the linemen at the hair salon. Chet had simply fallen hadn't he? Marco was backing him up but he didn't get close enough to have caused the stumble so why did Chet tell Cap that they had tripped each other up? He definitely saw Marco tackle his partner in order to get the water off Roy and away from the transformer. He was still trying to make sense of it all as he stepped out of the shower, his towel wrapped around his taut abdomen, and standing before him was the man he had wanted to talk to since the incident had occurred.

They both hesitated, neither one knowing how to start the conversation. Finally, Marco broke the silence, "Did you see what happened out there today?"

Mike leaned against a sink, arms crossed over his muscular chest. He thoughtfully nodded his head in affirmation. "Yes…I did. I also heard what he told Cap."

"He lied, Mike."

"I know; I just don't know why." Mike finger combed his wet hair, watching the older man struggle with what he wanted to say.

Marco sighed, unbuttoning his shirt more as a way of stalling than to prepare for his shower. He quickly pulled it off his shoulders and unbuckled his belt. When he had stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt only, he looked back over at Mike, still leaning against the sink.

"I, well actually we, Johnny and I, have been seeing some things that…have you noticed how he's changed over the last few months?"

"Chet, you mean?"

Marco nodded his confirmation, lowering his worry-filled eyes.

"Changed how?"

Marco took a seat on the bench in front of the paramedics' lockers. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. "He's distant…sometimes disheveled when he comes to work. Bloodshot eyes like he isn't sleeping or…" Marco couldn't bring himself to voice his biggest fear.

"Or?" Mike prodded.

"His social life has just ceased to exist; at least he isn't talking about it and," he looked up at his engineer before he continued. "He hasn't pulled a prank on anybody…not even John, in months now."

Mike contemplated the information his friend was providing and the one thing he wasn't saying. He thought about his conversation with Chet shortly after roll call, noting the similarities and the discrepancies. Now he wondered which story to believe. "I spoke to him this morning, right after Johnny went to Cap about him, and he says that he's just tired."

Marco shook his head, a smirk adorning his handsome face. "Tired? From what?"

"Says he's been helping out his landlady and she's giving him a break on his rent." Mike walked across the room to his locker and began getting dressed, his towel clad nakedness beginning to make him feel exposed. "I think he said he was painting or something." Once again, Mike's mind reminded him that something was amiss in Chet's story.

"Oh sure…you know how difficult and tiring it must be for a fireman to climb up and down ladders," Marco responded, sarcasm dripping off his words.

"Good point," Mike answered, pulling on his boxers and t-shirt. "I guess you agree with what Johnny did then?"

Without hesitation, the lineman responded. "Yes, I do. In fact…I'm going to talk to him myself before this shift is over."

Mike pulled his bunker suspenders over his shoulders with a snap then scrubbed his face. The division he had recognized at the scene earlier was beginning to take a more permanent hold on the crew. He pursed his lips together, turning to look into Marco's dark eyes. "Whatever it is you're gonna tell him just please make sure that it's accurate. Because, you two do realize that this might break up our crew, right?"

Marco turned toward the shower stall and without missing a beat, tossed his final statement over his shoulder in Mike's direction. "Yes…we do…but if Chet or somebody else gets injured because of him then we'll be broken up also. Either way…A shift will never be the same."

Mike pushed open the latrine door. He knew he needed to go straight to Hank's office but when he saw Johnny alone shooting free throws on the back lot he figured now was a good time to talk to him; he needed to hear what John had to say before he spoke with Hank.

"What's the score?" Mike asked trying to interject a bit of humor into the pending conversation.

"Hell if I know but it ain't in my favor," Johnny responded coldly, hands raised above his head, basketball balancing on the fingers of his right hand and his left stabilizing it as he prepared to shoot.

Mike hesitated as the ball floated towards the net then stepped up to rebound it when it bounced off the rim. He held the ball at chest level ready to pass it back to the paramedic but decided to see if he would talk first. "Got a minute?"

"Sure…I'm not exactly feeling welcome in there," he said nodding towards the kitchen.

Mike propped the basketball on his hip, stepping closer to his long-time friend. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Johnny huffed, stretching his arms and locking his fingers behind his head. "Aarrgh! Not you too," he groaned pulling his hands back down and propping them on his hips. "Mike, I've spent this whole shift gettin' my ass chewed out by Roy for buttin' in on somethin' that he says isn't my business but I know I'm right about this." His arms began to flail about animatedly as his lungs recharged for the rest of his statement. He pointed towards the latrine, "Marco sees it too and I just…"

"Whoa…slow down, Gage." Mike bounce-passed the basketball back to Johnny in an effort to stop his rant. "I just wanted to know what you've noticed. I've already talked to Marco and," he turned his upper body towards the bay then back to face the paramedic, "and I saw what happened today."

Johnny narrowed his eyes at his engineer. "What did you see?"

E!

Roy rinsed the last of the dishes, passing them off to Chet to dry. He turned glancing around the kitchen and day room making sure they were alone before he began. "Chet, what was it you wanted to talk to me about before we got called out earlier?"

Chet dried the casserole dish, shuffling to his right and stretching to place it on the top shelf of the cabinet. "Um, yea…well, it's nothing really."

Roy dried his hands then returned the dish towel, turning to his friend. "C'mon, Chet, nobody's in here now and if one of the guys walks in then we can just stop talking or take it to the dorm or something." He looked at the bags underneath the younger man's eyes. "I'm here for you."

"Humph, you're the only one then," he scowled.

Images of Johnny and Marco talking beside the engine at the salon passed through Roy's mind. "So this is about Johnny and Marco? I thought you had a medical question."

The throbbing in his foot must have heard the paramedic because it chose that moment to shoot stabbing pains up his calf. He winced then pulled out a chair at the table. "Roy, I…can I trust you?"

Pulling out his own chair beside Chet, he commented, "Of course you can."

"Promise you won't tell anybody?"

"No, Chet…now what's going on?"

"Um, will you take a look at my foot after I take a shower?" Inwardly, Chet was cringing knowing he probably shouldn't be on shift but not wanting to feel like a weakling, he'd toughed it out through the day by sneaking aspirin every few hours. Problem was, how could he get through the night without the other guys seeing the bandage…or without bleeding all over his bed sheets?

"Of course…are you next?" Roy nodded his head in the direction of the shower.

Chet looked down at the table, "Yea…gonna wait 'til Lopez is outta there first though. He's acting really weird around me lately. Guess, Gage has been bashing me to my own partner. What's his problem anyway, DeSoto? I haven't done anything to him. I haven't even planted any water bombs lately and still he's pissed off at me, trying to get me in trouble with Cap," he said jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the captain's office.

Roy felt torn; he wasn't used to being pulled between his partner and another shift mate. Then again, he'd never had a shift mate who seemed to be harassed by Johnny either. "I think his intentions are good, Chet. He's just worried about you, I guess."

"He's not my mother," Chet said with an exaggerated eye roll. "I'm an adult. I'm here at work and on time just doing my job…same as him. I'm just a little tired. That's…all!"

Roy was taken aback by the attitude he was experiencing. He hadn't realized just how shattered the relationship between Chet and Johnny had become. He looked over at the lineman and saw a hint of remorse in the younger man's features.

"I'm sorry, man. I'm just a little on edge, ya know?"

"It's ok."

"It's just hard when you're best friend turns his back on ya because of something one of the guys says." Chet ran a hand through his curly hair.

Roy saw the opening and decided to take the chance. "What exactly is Johnny saying about you?"

"I dunno, Cap didn't say specifically but he was asking me some really personal questions. Makes me wonder if….if, uh maybe he thinks I'm, I dunno…not up to par, I guess; like I shouldn't be here." He began drawing imaginary circles on the clean white tabletop.

"Why would he think that?" Roy knew from his rather heated conversations with his partner during the day but he wanted to hear Chet's side of it.

"Beats the hell outta me," he said with an uncomfortable chuckle. "Ask him. You know how Gage can jump to conclusions and blow things way outta proportion."

"Have you asked him?"

"I'm not talking to him right now. Besides, if I try I might just end up punching him. I mean, how would you feel if he did that to you?"

Roy was about to open his mouth to respond when the klaxons sounded for the squad only. He jumped up from his seated position, "we'll finish this when I get back, ok?"

"Yea, sure," Chet noted with a wave of his hand. "DeSoto?" He called out as Roy made it to the door.

"Yea?"

"Thanks, I really appreciate it." He didn't want Roy to think he was brushing him off.

"We're not done…be back soon," Roy said with a half-hearted smile.

E!

Johnny shot the ball into the waiting hands of Mike Stoker then loped over to his side of the squad. Hank opened his door to acknowledge the call but saw that Roy was standing at the radio. He locked eyes with his second in command and gave him a brief nod.

Mike waited for the squad to leave then dribbled the basketball into the bay heading for the captain's office, still unsure of how to approach his superior.

Inside the kitchen, Chet heard the echoing of the bouncing basketball and surmised by the sound that whoever was in control of it was heading to Cap's office. He knew Marco should be finished with his shower but didn't think the man would be dribbling a basketball around afterwards. The paramedics were on a run so that left Mike as the only person who could be the dribbler. He knew that Johnny had gone out to shoot some hoops earlier; the banging of the backboard as he missed a couple of shots was proof enough of that. Since Mike had never returned to the kitchen after his shower, he figured Johnny had cornered their engineer as he came out of the latrine. He could feel his blood pressure rising as he considered that Johnny had actually been using basketball as a way of waiting for Stoker to finish with his shower so he'd have a chance to talk to him. _Great…now he's heading to talk to Cap too. _

_E!_

Marco stepped out of the latrine wearing his bunkers over his t-shirt and boxers. He'd spent his time in the shower thinking about what Mike had said and starting to second guess himself and Johnny. _What if we're wrong? What if it is just fatigue? _He stepped around the back of the engine just in time to see Chet hobbling along the wall from the dayroom and easing up to the closed captain's office door. He drew his eyebrows together in confusion but then relaxed them in the hope that Chet was going to talk to Cap about what had happened earlier. His hopes were immediately dashed when he saw the curly haired lineman lean his ear up against the closed door. "What the…" Marco whispered to himself. He slowly took a step back hiding behind the rear of the engine waiting to see how long his partner was going to eavesdrop. As the minutes wore on, he slowly crept in the shadows towards the front of the engine. He couldn't allow this to continue. Whatever Hank was doing in his office, Chet had no business listening to it. He stood up erect, about to make his presence known when suddenly the klaxons sounded again.

"Engine 51, station 10, station 36…structure fire at…"

Sam's voice was issuing the address as Marco rounded the corner of the engine. He watched Chet hustle back toward the dayroom door and give it a push so that it was still swinging when Mike and Cap exited the office. He realized then that Chet was making it appear that he had just come out of the dayroom so no one would realize he'd been eavesdropping. He also noted the definite limping of the younger man; limping that disappeared as soon as Mike and Cap walked out. He donned his turnout coat and pulled himself up into his seat, waiting for Chet and the others to join him.

"KMG365."

He heard Cap respond and saw the paleness in Chet's face as he pulled himself up into his seat with a grimace, sweat beads seeming to suddenly appear on his face. He tried to make eye contact with the younger man but once again, Chet avoided looking in his direction. As Mike pulled the engine into the night, lights and sirens blaring, he made a promise to himself that before they went home in the morning, he would have a conversation with his troubled partner.

E!

Johnny and Roy stowed their equipment back in the compartments of their squad. They'd just spent the last forty-five minutes with a pregnant woman in labor. Fortunately, they'd gotten her to the hospital quickly and she was now in the labor and delivery ward hoping her second child would wait for her husband to arrive before deciding to come into the world. The tension in the cab of the squad had not abated and neither man spoke to the other. Johnny reached down for the microphone.

"Squad 51, available."

E!

The two story office building had closed a couple of hours before the fire began. The security guard had smelled smoke on the second floor and called it in before exiting the darkened building. Now, smoke mixed with noxious gases and steam from the firefighter's hoses, had quickly turned it into a dangerous smoldering nightmare. _At least there are no victims in here,_ he thought to himself as he felt his partner tapping him on the shoulder indicating he was ready to switch places. The exchange was made smoothly, perfected from years of working together in this familiar dance they called a career. The feel of the strong charged line pinned to his side by his right arm was as comforting to him as though he had his favorite girl by his side. Sweat enveloped him like a tidal wave as he trudged upwards, each step seeming to make his feet heavier and the air hotter. Even so, their steps were made in perfect synchronization as they began their assent up the stairwell to the second floor. Suddenly, his partner stopped causing him to bump into his back.

"Oomph," he said behind his mask then looked up to see the sight no fireman ever wants to see. There in the dingy glow of the emergency lights, the door to the second floor stood closed. But the sight of smoke puffing out around it then being sucked back in made his heart leap inside his throat. His respirations increased along with his pulse rate as he dropped his grip on the line and hooked his arm around that of his partner's.

"We gotta get outta here!" He screamed; his voice drowned out by the booming sound of the door being blown open and the two men tumbling down the stairwell.

E!

The tension in the squad was broken by three beeps from the radio. "Squad 51, respond to Engine 51's incident for two code I's. Repeat, respond to Engine 51's incident for two code I's."

Roy pulled on his helmet then sped up the squad while Johnny flipped on the lights and siren, writing down the address in his tiny notepad as Sam's voice repeated the address for them. John twisted his torso, pulling down his helmet and tightening the chin strap while he mentally reviewed the maps with which he was so familiar. "Take the next left, Roy."

Both paramedics put on their professional personas leaving behind their disagreement. Their jobs would not be negatively influenced because they didn't see eye to eye about one of their own. The citizens would always get their best no matter what but right now, as they barreled into the night, all they knew was that a couple of their brothers were in trouble…and they feared they knew the identity of the two code I's.

E!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter was difficult to write in light of the recent tragedies in Arizona and around the country. I considered changing my plan for the story but decided to go ahead with it anyway. In no way is this chapter and the one that will follow intended to be insensitive but is meant to honor the brave men and women who protect life and property on a daily basis.

Warning: language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 7

Chet both heard and felt the explosion that rocked the building. He shoved the bail of the nozzle forward shutting off the line then felt his partner pulling him backwards toward the exit. He leaned his head back checking out damage along the ceiling as Marco tugged on him again.

"Ceiling's gonna go, Chet…c'mon!"

The two experienced firefighters, momentarily disoriented by the backdraft, began to back their way out of the exit when suddenly the lead man stopped, his mask covered face staring down at the hose snaking towards the stairwell.

_Shit, shit, shit. "I_n the stairwell," he shouted to his older partner.

Marco's face swiveled in the direction Chet was pointing and he too saw the proof of their brothers' peril. _NO! Not this…not now! _His soul began to shout what his vocal chords could not. He cast a weary glance upwards, feeling the sweat pour down the sides of his neck and back, pooling along the waistband of his drenched boxers, his saturated t-shirt unable to absorb another drop. The flaming teeth overhead confirmed that they had precious few seconds to try to retrieve their fallen comrades. He watched as Chet dropped the line his hands had been securely holding and ignored the orders of their incident commander to evacuate the building. His heart slammed around inside his chest as the feeling of entering the bowels of hell enveloped him like a boiling tsunami rolling overhead. His first instinct was to turn and run but the reality of two men, indeed brothers from 36's, who lay trapped and most likely dying inside the stairwell spurred him into action. He quickly jogged behind Chet to the stairwell doorway.

E!

"Sonofabitch!" Being angry at a fire was nothing new to Hank Stanley, but the absolute bitter rage he was feeling at this moment went well beyond his normal emotions. His usual calm exterior was shattered and his uncharacteristic outburst was the proof. He knew immediately what had most likely happened and he also knew that the men under his command, which at the moment included every man from three stations with the exception of his own paramedics, were trusting him to keep them as safe as possible during this call. No way was he going to risk the life of a firefighter to save what was left of the building. It was apparent that it was going to be a total loss at this point so protecting the nearby structures became his priority. Then came the explosion and the priority became saving the lives of those inside.

"Incident command…evacuate immediately. Repeat…this is incident command…evacuate immediately." Hank's eyes followed the two lines that snaked across the parking lot and into the eastern exposure of the building; one belonged to 36's and the other belonged to 51's. He saw no movement that indicated the men were egressing. He then scanned the northern side and watched as two other men from 36's exited the building as quickly as their tired gear-laden legs could move. _Thank God! _

Hank keyed up his mic, "Station 10, report."

"We're out," the Captain responded.

"Copy," Hank replied. "Station 36, report," Hank asked, surveying the area where his own men had entered the burning inferno.

"Two out, two unaccounted for," came the anxious reply. "My men are ready to go in on search and rescue."

The weight of the decision pressed the air out of Hank's lungs and began sucking his soul through the bottom of his feet into the asphalt of the parking lot as if it were quicksand. He also had two men unaccounted for and knew that all four of them were in close proximity to the explosion. He gulped for air willing the unseen fingers of the beast to release their grip from around his throat as he clutched the handy talkie. But, before he could respond to 36's request, he saw movement near the entrance and what he saw caused his breathing to hitch in the back of his throat.

E!

Chet never felt the pain in his foot as he charged across the floor toward the blue metal door leaning haphazardly in the opening to the stairwell; its upper hinges had been dislodged in the explosion leaving it slightly askew. Using his shoulder, he shoved it back against the wall inside the stairwell and cringed at the sight before him.

Beneath a pile of metal shards, wooden splinters and a few jagged pieces of glass lay the motionless firefighters from 36's. One man was face down, his face mask broken and his face bloody. His right leg was twisted at an odd angle, obviously broken midway down the shin by the debris now piled on top of him. The second man was trapped beneath the first, his legs and one arm the only evidence of his location.

Chet and Marco began to systematically remove debris from their downed brothers. Neither man checked for a pulse; it didn't matter if they were alive or not because no brother would be left behind. Marco continued to occasionally cast a glance at the direction of the second floor, his own fierce stubbornness willing it to remain intact long enough to allow their escape. Finally, the last piece of wood was removed and Chet assisted his partner in hoisting the victim onto Marco's shoulders in a fireman's carry. It was the only option for a one man rescue. With rapid breaths, Marco tightened his grip on the injured man then gave one last longing look at his younger partner.

"Make it quick, Chet," he shouted, his voice muffled by the mask as well as his own welling emotions.

Chet scanned the unconscious man who was now exposed. His left arm was clearly fractured, having been slammed against the stairs beneath the weight of the other man and the falling debris. His helmet had been dislodged exposing the right side of his head to the trauma of the metal beam which had also broken his partner's leg. Chet felt his chest tighten and his stomach lurch at the sight of the trauma the metal, glass and heat had inflicted on a human body. And even though a tiny part of him knew that his efforts at rescue may be futile, he summoned up all the strength his adrenaline saturated body could muster and using the height of the stairs to help him, he shouldered the injured firefighter across his upper back and began his methodical exit.

Marco felt his pulse throbbing in his throat as the intense heat began to burn through his turnouts. The rapid swooshing sounds of his SCBA reminded him of just how quick his respirations were as he struggled beneath his burden to find his way out of the smoky maze. Using his boots to follow the hose he and Chet had dropped, he finally navigated his way to the opening and into the night air. He never saw the two firefighters from 10's who relieved him of his victim but he felt the lightness as the man was removed. The next sensation he felt was a strong hand around his wrist pulling his right arm across a broad set of shoulders while its companion hugged him tightly around the waist, assisting him the remainder of the way across the parking lot and to the squad from Station 10 where their engineer was laying out yellow sheets for the victims. His legs felt weak and his vision began to blur as they got closer but then a familiar voice called out to him with a rejuvenating effect.

"Lopez, whatcha got?"

Marco widened his eyes as he was assisted to the ground, his SCBA being pulled off his shoulders while he removed his mask. "Cap," he began with a huff. "Che…Chet's right behind me…with…with the other guy."

"Injured?" Hank asked in a voice that reminded those nearby that he was both in charge of this incident and extremely concerned for the welfare of the men.

Marco nodded his affirmation willing his heartbeat to slow down. "Ye…yesss," he drawled out. "Unconscious…Chet's ok," he spoke in answer to his captain's unclarified question.

"Mike," Hank looked up, his face a mixture of authority and compassion. "Get another squad coming…tell dispatch we're gonna need a second alarm too."

Hank had already learned that the two men injured in the backdraft were the paramedics from 36's, leaving only two paramedics still on scene and both of them were busy with the victim Marco had just rescued. Hank turned back around watching the area where Marco had just emerged. He saw two more men from 10's pulling a line towards Chet's only route of egress from the burning structure. Just as the two men got close enough to begin cooling down the area for the two men still inside, Chet emerged, obviously struggling with the weight of the larger man he was carrying. The two linemen from 10's dropped their line and eased the severely injured man off Chet's shoulders, using a two man carry to get him to the area set up by their paramedics. Rapidly blinking his eyes in an effort to clear the stinging sweat from his field of vision, he reached up to pull off his mask when a strong arm reached around his waist while another pulled his arm across a taller set of shoulders and a voice he knew well seemed to materialize in his left ear.

"No, leave it on, Kelly and lean on me."

Chet looked up and saw the face of his engineer staring down at him. "Thanks, Mi…," he slurred unable to complete the name of the man who was carrying him more than simply assisting him away from the burning structure.

"I got ya."

The Irishman watched as the two linemen deposited the victim on one of the yellow sheets then ran past him heading back to man a line against the beast that still raged. Chet stumbled but felt the strong arm of the man beside him holding him up preventing his fall and somewhere deep inside his broken soul, the act of leaning on someone else knowing that this man would not let him down, felt like it filled a tiny vacant corner of his shattered and empty heart.

E!

Roy tried to swallow but the dryness in his mouth made the normally mundane task nearly impossible to accomplish. Amid the chaos at the scene, he spotted what appeared to be a triage area set up beside squad 10. He wheeled the squad over near the area, quickly exiting and pulling out the equipment he thought he and Johnny would need.

Johnny's eyes surveyed the carnage seeing two injured firefighters he didn't recognize and another walking away from the triage area slowly. He read the name stenciled across the back of the turnout coat heading back towards the fire and noted the name 'LOPEZ' in black letters. Seeing the lineman alone sent a chill up his spine. _Where is he?_

Johnny jumped out of the door pulling open the compartments on his side and removing the usual gear. He continued to scan the area looking for his missing shiftmate, his nimble hands able to locate the equipment without him even looking in that direction. Then he spotted Mike helping a shorter man over toward the triage area and quickly made his way to them.

Chet glanced down at the severely injured man on the yellow blanket and realized that the paramedic kneeling beside him was Roy. "Oh good," he mumbled as Mike helped him sit down.

"I got him," Mike offered, his eyes meeting those of Johnny in a brief unspoken message of understanding.

"Get Rampart on the horn…this one's going sour on us quick," Roy called to his partner. The man lying before him had a severe head trauma; an injury he knew would have life altering, if not life ending, consequences.

Johnny jerked open the orange box and screwed in the antennae. "Rampart, this is squad 51, how do you read?"

Chet watched in silence as the two sets of paramedics hovered over their patients shouting out instructions to each other, speaking a language only bits and pieces of which he understood. His hands began to shake with an uncontrollable desire to do something to help out. The victim he'd removed, the one described by Roy as 'going sour,' looked more like a corpse than a living man. He knew by the looks on Roy's and Johnny's faces that his condition was grave. He sat down, drinking the water Mike had handed him and watched as the two paramedics cut off the firefighter's turnout coat. That led Chet to begin pulling off the man's boots. He knew they would need to check him for injuries in his lower extremities. He'd even seen them start IV's around the ankles of victims and began pulling off the man's socks, one extremely bloody; the action more of a way to feel useful than an actual act of assistance. He stared first at the bloody sock then at the man's foot from which it had been removed; the injury allowing the pain in his own aching foot to surface.

"You both gonna go in right?"

"Mmm hmm," Johnny responded using his teeth to tear open another bag of lactated ringers per Dr. Early's orders.

"I'll bring the squad in after overhaul," he choked out.

"Ambulance is here."

Chet blinked rapidly, looking around for the man to whom the voice belonged. "Hey, Marco…gimme a hand?" He reached up, taking the proffered hand from the man whom he still considered to be his best friend in spite of their recent stressed relationship.

"Help us get him on the stretcher," Roy requested.

The two paramedics and two linemen from Station 51 carefully loaded the injured man, covering him with a beige blanket and buckling him in. Johnny held the two bags of ringer's above his head as they loaded him inside the awaiting ambulance.

Hank stepped over to the back of the ambulance, casting worried blood shot eyes at his two paramedics then lowering them to the unconscious man who just minutes before had gone inside the burning structure under his command. He gulped down the lump in his throat, shut the doors and gave them the customary two slaps.

"Cap?" Chet called out breaking the trance Hank had been locked inside. "I'll take the squad in when we get done here."

Hank nodded his agreement, "Thanks, Pal."

Chet looked back at what was left of the burning structure that had nearly consumed him. Station 10's crew along with the second alarm assignments had knocked it down to the point where only a few glowing spots remained. "Let's grab another line," Chet said, turning to his partner.

"You sure you're ok?" Marco's concern for his friend was evident on his somber face.

"Yea," he began, feeling an odd sense of relief flood him as a plan began to hatch deep inside his being. Finally, he'd be able to get some much needed rest to gather his thoughts. Snippets of the conversation he'd had with his father after his miserable results on the Engineers exam tried to surface as he watched his victim carried into the night by the Mayfair ambulance. Charles Kelly had tossed him a live grenade that day and he'd since been juggling it about in his mind like the proverbial hot potato. Finally, he was going to find a way to deal with it but the feeling of relief was short lived; his anger boiling when he thought of the damage the flaming hell-beast had inflicted on his two brothers from 36's. He looked over at Marco whose compassionate eyes were trying to read his thoughts but Chet was determined not to allow even his best friend inside his private nightmare. No now; maybe not ever. He pulled his helmet back on his mussed up curly hair, tightening his chinstrap, he spoke with a conquering voice. "Let's finish off this bitch."


	8. Chapter 8

Warning: strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 8

"Rampart, the victim's in full arrest. Beginning CPR. At your door."

Dixie felt her heart leap into her throat at the strained sound in Johnny's voice. Johnny and Roy, just like all the paramedics working out of Rampart, gave each patient their all. The only difference between this victim and most of the others was that this one was a fellow firefighter. She turned her face around looking at Dr. Early who was leaning against the supply cabinet and recognized the stress lines on his round face.

"10-4, 51. We'll be waiting in 3," she said in a calm voice that did not match the sense of dread in her heart. She twisted her hips in a sashaying motion as both she and Dr. Early maneuvered between the nurse's desk and the base station in a rush to treatment room 3; the sound of a siren pulling into the emergency room parking lot heralded the arrival just as Johnny had indicated.

"Sally, page Dr. Morton to treatment 3. Kel will take the other patient in 1."

"Yes, Ms. McCall," the pretty blonde nurse responded reaching for the phone.

The orderly-driven stretcher nearly bumped into Dr. Brackett as it made the corner with Roy riding the rails performing chest compressions. His normally light blue uniform shirt was marked in a darkened 'V' pattern along his sweat soaked back, his stethoscope dangling around his neck. Silently he mouthed his count as his partner held an IV bag between his clenched teeth and continued bagging their victim to force oxygen into his lungs; an act the injured man's brain could no longer perform in his current condition. An ambulance attendant flanked the patient with the second bag of ringer's aloft.

Dr. Brackett watched the drama unfold as the team passed by him charging into treatment room 3 just as the second ambulance pulled into the entrance; its seriously injured occupant in desperate need of the aid he stood ready to render. His eager eyes scanned the opening door of the ambulance as the medics from Station 10 emerged with his patient; their concern just as evident on their determined faces but their pace not nearly as frantic as Roy and Johnny's. Dr. Brackett heard the pain-filled groans beneath the oxygen mask and although the sound was one Dr. Kelly Brackett hated he was still grateful that his patient seemed to be performing the basic functions of heart beats and respirations unaided. These were the moments when even the tiniest victories deserved recognition.

E!

Hank continued to do his best to focus on overhaul but found his mind kept wandering back to the two ambulances he'd watched drive into the night. He was staring into the burnt out remains of the structure when Chet's voice broke through his mental fortress.

"CAP!"

Hank looked over his shoulder, realizing by the volume and tone of his lineman's voice that this was not the first time the younger man had called out to him. "I'm sorry, Kelly. Did you need something?"

The throbbing pain in Chet's foot had become nearly unbearable but the look he saw on his captain's face was almost enough to make him forget about his own distress. He tried to lick his lips before he spoke but couldn't find enough moisture to complete the task. The worry lines along Hank's brow were deeply furrowed and without realizing it, Chet's face matched them in a gesture of sympathetic solidarity.

"Um," he shifted his weight squinting at the sharp pain the movement caused then broke eye contact with his superior. "The, uh…overhaul is about done and…I was, uh…wondering if I needed to go ahead and pick up DeSoto and Gage?"

Hank looked down at his own boots, thinking that they were much too clean for such a bad run. He inhaled holding his breath for a count then looked back up in the direction of the men with pike poles, shovels and one single hose. Two other men should be there sweating alongside them but instead they were at Rampart General Hospital fighting for their lives.

"Cap'n Stanley?"

"Hmm?"

"You alright?" Chet asked, rubbing his burning red eyes.

"Oh…yea, yea…go ahead and get them…get an update on the men from 36's too, will ya Pal?"

Chet let his gaze drift downward, unsure if Captain Stanley was answering his second question or his first. "Sure thing, Cap." He slowly turned around and shuffled in the direction of the squad, passing the spot where Roy and Johnny had worked at a fevered pace to save the life of the victim he'd rescued, no…the brother he'd carried out of the inferno. His body protested when he bent down to retrieve the injured man's damaged and discarded turnouts and boots. He was grateful that his captain's mind seemed to be too far away to recognize the agonizing grunt he couldn't stifle and the obvious limp he could no longer hide. He tossed the turnouts into the passenger's seat of the squad, cranking up the smaller emergency vehicle and following the same route the Mayfair ambulances had followed earlier.

Standing in the distance, unseen by Hank and Chet, the two remaining firefighters from 51's watched and worried. The lost look on Hank's face lodged a lump in Mike's throat but it was the distinct limp in Chet's gait that caused Marco's ire to resurface with a vengeance. He knew that he hadn't misunderstood Chet's actions outside the captain's office earlier. Now, he was more determined than ever to confront his partner and put an end to this new alter ego that he and Johnny weren't willing to embrace.

E!

Chet made a right turn a little too sharply and bounced on the beige bench seat of the squad. Driving with his left foot was difficult enough but adding the pain of the jarring motion took his breath away. He looked back over at the passenger's seat and contemplated his next move. Everything he needed to execute his plan was right there beside him. The coat was damaged as was the right boot. The paramedic to whom the personal protective equipment belonged wasn't going to need it during his recovery. Besides, most of it was useless anyway.

Chet rubbed a worried hand across his face, propping his elbow on the window ledge just as he'd seen Roy do hundreds of times. Roy. The paramedic's name brought something else to mind that he needed to worry about. Roy DeSoto was one of the most honorable men he'd ever met. He was an excellent firefighter and paramedic. He would've made one of the best engineers in the department too if he'd accepted the promotion. Chet still didn't understand why the man turned it down. But one thing that was bothering Chet even more was that he had made the mistake of mentioning his foot to Roy right before this last run. No way would Mr. Boyscout-choirboy-perfect-paramedic-fabulous-firef ighter-excellent-engineer-DeSoto go along with his plan. But Roy wasn't the one with the secret that was eating him up inside. Roy wasn't the one who needed to sort through the cyclone of emotions he was experiencing. And Roy wasn't the one who had quite literally stumbled upon a way to get paid while he sorted through the nightmare he now found himself living in.

Then there was Marco. Chet had long considered him to be more than just a partner but also his best friend. But in recent weeks he seemed to be questioning Chet more and more which had caused Chet to begin to resent the older man. Marco didn't know anything; actually, no one did. Johnny was sticking his nose where it didn't belong and running to Hank like some tattling toddler because he thought Chet wasn't able to perform his duties. Mike seemed to genuinely understand why he was angry with Johnny so perhaps he wouldn't be an issue. That thought brought him squarely back to the senior paramedic on his shift. Roy DeSoto. He knew that he had to come up with a plausible story to feed Roy or else the entire plan would be in jeopardy.

He pulled over at a convenience store a block away from Rampart. He turned off the ignition and allowed the cool Southern California night air to blow through the cab of the squad, soothing his exhaustion but doing nothing to quell his internal storm. He looked once more at the pile sitting beside him trying to decide if the reward was worth the risk. His breathing quickened and sweat trickled down from his temple across his cheek and down his neck. He felt his nostrils flaring as he sucked in more of the night air hoping to find the resolve to go forward. He listened to the sounds in the night – honking horns, a revving motorcycle in the distance, the ticking of his watch – sounds that seemed so mundane and routine but this was no ordinary night and what he was about to do was far from routine. Finally, knowing full well that if he got caught his firefighting career would be over but truthfully no longer caring, he twisted his boot around the radio near the floorboard and propped his throbbing right foot on the bench seat. He picked up the other man's right boot, confirming that the cut in the sole was somewhat close to the right area to match his own injury. He fished inside his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife; carefully, he enlarged the original jagged cut by slanting his knife blade at an angle toward the center of the boot, grimacing as he made the additional two inch incision. Swallowing back the bile he could already taste, he carefully removed his right boot.

"AarrrRGH!"

He leaned his head back against the headrest blowing out his cheeks. One more step and the plan would be put into motion. Hesitation tugged at his right hand but it wasn't strong enough to stop him from reaching down and placing the newly acquired boot onto his own blood soaked sock. Gulping, whether from the pain or his own anxiety, he couldn't tell but he eased his foot back down, shifting into gear and pulling back out into traffic; the lights of Rampart General Hospital's top floors beckoning him in the distance.

E!

"Hank, if it's all the same to you, we wanna head on over to Rampart and check on our men."

Captain Stanley looked into the weary green eyes of Jackson O'Conner, the captain from Station 36. He could see the weight of the man's worry weighing down his shoulders and etching itself on his face. Hank held out his arm and patted the other captain on his dusty shoulder.

"Go ahead, Jack. We'll finish it up," he said, nodding knowingly to Captain Andrew Jones from station 10.

"Another twenty minutes and we'll be done anyway," Captain Jones acknowledged in support of Hank's recommendation.

"Thanks…," Jack said hesitatingly. He wanted to say more but at the moment his mind was on his paramedic team at Rampart. He just hoped that they would both be ok.

E!

Chet backed the squad into a parking spot near the emergency entrance and turned off the ignition. He scrubbed his face with his right hand, hesitation still lingering in his soul. He then shook his dusty curly dark hair as he reached for the door handle; the metallic squeaking sound the door made felt as if it lodged itself along his spine causing him to wince slightly. Carefully, he twisted in the seat using his left foot for support then eased his right foot down and heard himself hiss at the sharp pain the action caused. Slowly, he shuffled around the hood of the squad then limped along to the glass doors where he was met by an orderly.

"Do you need a wheelchair, sir?"

Chet looked up at the tall man dressed in white, his uniform in stark contrast to his dark skin. "Um, yea…I think I might." He leaned his back against the railing at the entrance as the orderly disappeared then returned just as quickly pushing a wheelchair. Chet turned his back to the wheelchair and slowly eased himself down, propping both feet on the available footrests. He knew he should be feeling relaxed as the orderly gave him a smooth ride along the corridor but he was feeling much more tense as they made the right turn towards the treatment rooms. This was it and he knew it. _Please don't let it be Brackett._

"What happened to you, Mr. Kelly?"

Chet looked up into one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen. He had always thought that Nurse Sally looked like an angel but to see her now, dressed all in white and looking down at him with her gorgeous smile and a look of genuine concern nearly made him choke on his own saliva. "Da, uh…ahem…I..I just cut my foot at a fire…nothing serious."

"Well," she began patting, him on the shoulder, "we'll get you patched up good as new soon." She looked up at the orderly. "Take him to treatment 4 and I'll get Dr. Harrison to take a look at him."

"Who…who's Dr. Harrison?" Chet asked nervously.

"He's our new intern," she offered, her smile fading a little. "Brackett, Early and Morton are busy with the other two firemen who were brought in a little while ago."

"Yea…how are they doing?" Chet asked, remembering his captain's departing request.

Sally sucked half of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "They've been in there a while, I'm afraid. Your paramedics are still in with theirs but the guys from Station 10 have been released and they're waiting in the break room," she said, glancing down the hallway past the nurse's station. "Let me get Dr. Harrison to come take a look at you and I'll try to get an update."

"Aww, that'd be great. Thanks, Sally."

"You're welcome," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back to the nurse's station.

Chet felt himself moving again toward the fourth treatment room just as he heard the page calling Dr. Harrison to his treatment room.

The door of treatment room 4 swished closed behind Chet just as a very dejected Johnny Gage came out of treatment room 3. He pulled both hands behind his head interlocking his fingers as he walked slowly down the corridor toward the men's restroom.

Roy exited shortly after him, his face still perspiring from the exertion of his life-saving efforts. He watched as his partner leaned down for a drink of water at the fountain then shoved open the restroom door with more force than was necessary but Roy understood why; neither man accepted defeat when they lost a patient and those feelings were especially prevalent when that patient was one of their own. Roy lingered in the corridor trying to decide whether to check on Johnny or just leave the man alone. This had been a very strained shift for them and he knew that if he walked inside the restroom, they might both say something they would later regret. The sound of a female voice brought him back to the present.

"Roy?"

He looked to his right at the slim blonde nurse standing beside him.

"He didn't make it did he?" Sally's voice was filled with compassion.

Roy tried to speak but decided that shaking his head was the easier way to communicate at the moment as he didn't trust his dry throat to be able to create the simple one syllable word.

"I'm very sorry…I know you did everything you could." She watched him nod his agreement as he pushed his hands inside his uniform pockets. "Um, I just paged Dr. Harrison to room 4; Chet's in there with a foot injury…thought you might want to see him."

Roy looked up, knitting his eyebrows together. "Oh…what happened?"

"Said he cut it at the scene…nothing serious but he may need a few stitches. I'm heading in there now to get him ready." She turned sideways encouraging Roy to follow her. "Care to join me?"

Roy cast one last longing glance down the long corridor toward the restrooms then turned his face back toward the next treatment room. "Sure."

Inside the treatment room, Chet allowed the orderly to assist him up onto the exam table. He extended his right leg out on the table but left the other leg dangling; his nervousness causing it to swing from side to side.

"What happened, Kelly?" Roy asked as he followed Sally into the room.

"Uh, just stepped on some metal or something when I was carrying that guy from 36's out…I guess," he let his gaze drop down unable to look his friend in the eye as he told the lie. "How's he doing anyway?"

Sally and Roy exchanged a quick look then she turned back around to the cabinet preparing the tray the doctor would need for the examination. She knew Roy needed to be the one to share the bad news.

"He…he didn't make it, Chet." Roy walked around to the foot of the exam table. "Let's get this boot off so the doctor can check you out."

Chet felt the full weight of Roy's words slam crushingly on his shoulders and chest. "Damn…," he complained, clenching his right hand in a tight fist wrinkling up the sheet on which he lay. He looked up at the pretty nurse in the corner who had obviously heard him. "Sorry, Sally."

"It's ok, Chet. I understand."

Roy looked down at the damaged boot and began to gently remove it from Chet's foot. He was a bit surprised at the amount of blood on the lineman's white sock.

"Easy, Roy…shit, that hurts!"

Sally shook her head; as a nurse, she had certainly heard worse from a number of patients, both those in pain and those under a variety of influences. However, she was also aware that most firemen tried to exercise a little more self-restraint around the nurses and found herself a bit disappointed in his behavior.

Roy reached beneath Chet's turnouts and removed the sock, being careful not to allow his shock to be revealed on his face. It wasn't so much what he saw on the lineman's sock that had registered as unusual; it was what he didn't see that sent a chill up his spine and left a cold dark hole in the pit of Roy's stomach. He immediately remembered Chet's request as he and Johnny were toned out earlier and the reality of the situation settled around him like a tightening noose. Now wasn't the time to confront his shiftmate with what he saw. He knew by the injury that Chet would not be returning for the remainder of the shift and would likely be out for at least a few more so Roy vowed to himself that while A-shift was off duty, he would go over to Chet's apartment to check on him. The young man was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

"So, what have we got here?" The young red-haired intern asked as he walked into the exam room.

Sally looked up at the sound of Dr. Harrison's voice. "Fireman Chet Kelly; he has a pretty nasty cut on the ball of his foot. He injured it at the scene of a fire."

Roy stepped back so the physician could begin his examination; the paramedic's mind reeling. _Like hell he did, Sally. Like hell he did. _


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 9

Johnny exited the men's restroom, looking around for Roy or Chet. Seeing neither, he wandered slowly out the emergency entrance and leaned over the side railing, forearms holding his weight with hands clasped together in front of him. He stared unseeing at the concrete as the night air whisked his bangs in front of his dark eyes; his mind taking him back to the scene where he watched Chet carry the fatally injured man from the burning structure. Earlier in the shift, he had thought the lineman had lacked the ability to perform the task and yet Johnny himself had witnessed it. Doubt began to creep up behind him surrounding him like a cold heavy fog and he wondered if perhaps he and Marco had been wrong.

Before he became too deeply cloaked in skepticism, he heard the distinctive sound of an engine pulling into the parking lot. Looking up, his heart sank into his shoes; the insignia on the door identified the engine as belonging to Station 36.

"Aww, hell," he whispered into the night realizing that the task of informing the men from 36's about the loss of their paramedic might be falling squarely on his shoulders. He straightened up his back turning to face Captain O'Conner when a warm hand tightly gripped his tense shoulder.

"I've got this, Johnny."

Johnny turned to his side just as the blur of Dr. Early's white coat passed by him heading into the parking lot to meet the arriving crew. He watched as Squad 36 pulled up beside her big sister and he felt like his heart stopped beating. The realization that there was one L.A. County Fire Department paramedic who had responded to his final alarm causing him more distress than he had anticipated. He also knew that the partner of the deceased was not yet out of danger.

Johnny saw the white striped helmet of Captain O'Conner move hurriedly around the front of the engine as the engineer and one lineman stepped down. The second lineman exited the squad and joined them forming a semicircle around the gray haired physician. Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose in a losing battle with his emotions just as he saw the Captain, flanked by two of his men, lose his ability to stand and was gently eased to a sitting position on the tailboard of Engine 36.

"Sonofa…," Johnny never completed the softly spoken swear as he jogged over to assist the grief stricken captain. For a moment, it wasn't Captain O'Conner he was watching collapse but another more familiar face with dark hair peeking from beneath the edges of the officer's helmet. His arrival was met with a sympathetic look of appreciation from Dr. Early and Johnny was grateful that the older man had thought to meet the crew in the parking lot where there was more privacy than inside the bustling emergency department. He made a mental note to thank him later on.

"Again, I'm very sorry… the trauma to Mr. Carrigan's brain was just too much for him to survive," Dr. Early's blue eyes quickly scanned the soot covered and now tear streaked faces of the firemen. This was the part of his job he hated most. "As soon as I know something from the surgical unit, I'll find you and give you an update on Mr. Jacob's condition." Dr. Early took a step backwards in the direction of the emergency room. He had worked with firefighters long enough to know that the strength they would draw from each other was far superior to what he or anyone else outside the brotherhood could offer at this time. He briefly locked eyes with Johnny and the paramedic understood the unspoken message.

Johnny would make sure that no one left the hospital in questionable condition and he would stay with the grief-stricken crew while they waited for the chief. Johnny squeezed the shoulder of the lineman standing beside him and felt the other man shift his weight leaning against their engine for support.

"Th…ahem," Johnny cleared his throat trying to find his words so he could speak for the others he knew were unable to speak for themselves at the moment. "Thanks, Doc."

Dr. Early nodded his head taking a few slow steps backwards. He watched the semicircle of men close around Captain O'Conner and finally felt that he could return to the hospital and hopefully bring better news out to this group soon. He blew out his cheeks, lowering his head watching his own footfalls across the asphalt parking lot carrying him back to the hospital. He heard the sound of a car door closing nearby and turned his head to his right in time to see Chief Houts stepping over to his men, his feet seemingly made of lead. _Hardest part of your job too isn't it, Chief?_

_E!_

Inside Rampart, Roy stood back leaning against the metal supply cabinet in the examination room watching Sally push the tray over to Chet's legs.

"Need any help, Doc?"

"Um, if you don't mind, would you get a set of vitals for me Mr…." The new intern suddenly realized he didn't know the name of the paramedic who had just offered his services.

"DeSoto, Roy DeSoto. I'm a paramedic out of Station 51 with Chet," he offered, moving toward Chet's upper body. "Let's get you leaned down and let you relax," Roy said, trying to encourage Chet to look at him.

Chet allowed Roy to help him remove his turnout coat but he never looked into Roy's eyes. He leaned back as the head of the exam table was lowered noticing that the throbbing pain in his foot seemed to be getting worse. He felt the tightening of the blood pressure cuff then the familiar hissing sound as Roy released the bulb. Next, his wrist was grasped between Roy's fingers and he couldn't help but think how the paramedic's touch felt very different than he had imagined Sally's delicate fingers might feel wrapped around his wrist. He closed his eyes, not caring to watch what the doctor was doing to his foot when he suddenly jumped as Roy placed an open palm along his upper abdomen to count his respirations.

"Settle down, Chet. You're gonna be alright," Roy said, deliberately watching the lineman's face to see how he reacted.

"I know…ya just…kinda startled me is all," he responded, eyes remaining closed.

"BP 150/88, pulse 84, respirations 22." Roy leaned against the exam table staring down at his friend trying to decide what was causing his elevated vitals. _Is it the pain… grief over losing Carrigan… or fear about what you're doing, buddy?_

"Mr. Kelly, I'm going to probe a little to see how deep this cut is but you let me know if it's too painful."

"Ok," Chet replied.

"Sally, I need some saline to irrigate the wound," Dr. Harrison requested.

Roy watched Sally remove the requested items from the cabinet. "Try taking some slow deep breaths, Chet." Roy was hoping to offer a bit of comfort to the man even though he was fighting his own anger. He decided to reserve his judgment for a time when they were alone.

"Aaauuhg, Doc?"

Dr. Harrison looked up at the contorted face of his patient. "Alright, the wound is deep enough for sutures. How long ago did this happen?"

Roy wanted to give the doctor a thumb's up sign for asking the question that he too wanted to hear the answer to. He watched Chet carefully as they waited for a response.

"Uh…I dunno, maybe a couple of hours? Does it matter?"

Roy leaned down closer to Chet's head to make sure his next words were understood. "Yea…it matters. It matters a lot."

Dr. Harrison couldn't help but over hear the exchange between the two friends but chose to move on to his next question. "Ok, when was your last tetanus shot?"

Chet finally opened his eyes but stared straight up at the white institutional ceiling squares. "About a year, I think."

Sally was already one step ahead of him, thumbing through his chart. "Looks like about a year and a half ago."

"Alright, that's recent enough. Let's go ahead and get him numbed up, Sally, and I'll need a suture kit too." He turned his face back in Chet's direction. "Mr. Kelly, I'm going to inject you with something to numb the area before I do anything else."

"Ok, thanks."

Dr. Harrison carefully cleaned the area around the wound then reached for the syringe from Sally. "Ok, this is going to sting a little but then it'll numb up fairly quickly…and don't worry, I won't be probing any more until I know you can't feel it."

"Ugh..ahh," Chet grunted, his face turning red as the anesthetic was injected. "Fu…," he bit his tongue to stop the foul word from escaping his lips as the second injection was made. He looked pleadingly at Sally who gave him a quick wink. He released his breath knowing that his effort at self-restraint had been appreciated.

"Ok, Mr. Kelly," Dr. Harrison began stepping around closer to Chet's head, "I'll let this work for a few minutes then I'll be back and finish cleaning deeper just to make sure there's no debris lodged in the wound then I'll stitch you up and let you go home. You won't be able to finish your shift."

"Kinda figured as much," Chet said with a sense of relief. "When do you think I can go back?"

Roy fought the urge to roll his eyes, deciding to cross his arms in front of his chest instead. Chet's behavior was frustrating him more than the Phantom's pranks ever had and yet there was still something worrying him. He was quietly trying to decide how and when to approach the subject of Chet's deceit when an idea suddenly came to him. He waited for the doctor to answer Chet's question before he gave his own response.

"Well, I'll have to see how well you heal but considering the nature of your job, I'd say two weeks barring any complications." He waited for his patient to acknowledge he understood. When he saw Chet's head nod, he continued. "I've got to go check on another patient but I'll be back in a few minutes to finish up in here."

"Doc?" Roy called out catching the attention of the young physician. "If you want me to, I can go by his apartment to change his dressings…I mean, it'll be difficult for him to drive so if it would help then I don't mind."

Chet wanted to scream his opposition but couldn't find any valid reason to decline the offer.

"Well, that sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. DeSoto."

"Oh, you can just call me Roy," the paramedic said with a grin. His plan was taking shape and he knew Chet was in no position to fight it.

"We'll make sure we send Mr. Kelly home with enough supplies for a few dressing changes," he said then turned to face his patient. "You have a great friend here, Mr. Kelly. Not everyone has friends to help them out during times like this." He pushed open the door with a smile not realizing the fuel he'd just thrown on a smoldering ember.

"Yea…thanks, Roy." Chet knew he should be grateful but he had only planned on seeing one person during his recuperation period and it definitely wasn't one of his coworkers.

"Mr. Kelly, is there anything you need? Are you comfortable?"

Chet looked over at the pretty face of his nurse. "Uh…could I have some water please?" He hadn't taken the time to rehydrate and he was beginning to feel the effects.

"Of course, I'll be right back."

Roy waited until Sally had left then returned to Chet's side and began wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Chet's upper arm and returned his stethoscope to his ears.

"Hey…watcha doin' that for?"

Roy continued his ministrations without answering the question until he'd counted Chet's respirations. "Your vitals were elevated. I was just seeing if they were normalizing any."

"Well, are they?"

"Your respirations are down to 16 but your pulse rate and BP are still high." Roy waited for a response from Chet but noticed that the lineman didn't seem very concerned.

"Figures."

Roy knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "I don't understand, Chet. Is something going on?"

"Noooo, of course not," Chet's voice spouted with sarcasm. "I mean, just because I've gotta get my foot stitched up, gonna be outta work for a couple of weeks, failed at a rescue and let a fellow firefighter die; not the first thing I failed at on this job, not to mention my old man…...shit," he moaned, lowering his voice and turning his head away from Roy. He realized that he had almost revealed more than he'd intended to during his rant.

"Chet…," Roy wasn't sure how to continue. "You…ah, you didn't let Carrigan die. He had a head injury. You couldn't save him…no one could." Roy's anger was temporarily abating as he listened to the emotional pain his friend was trying so desperately to mask but little did he know that it was about to return with a vengence.

"Don't try to make me feel better…he's dead…I didn't get to him in time…just another screw up on my part…end of story."

Roy stared at the man lying on the exam table realizing that there was indeed something else dragging Chet down. _What do I have to do to get through to you, Kelly? _He turned to look behind him, noting that there seemed to be the usual activity going on in the corridor. He didn't hear the voices of Sally or Dr. Harrison so he decided to go ahead and at least begin the conversation he was planning on having in the morning at Chet's apartment.

"I know how it feels when you lose a victim and it does feel like you failed somehow but Chet…you didn't fail…the initial blast from the backdraft did the damage." Roy was warring within himself; part of him wanting to reach out to his friend and the other part wanting to shake him by the shirt collar.

"Don't patronize me, Roy. You have no idea how I feel or what I'm going through."

Roy placed both hands on the exam table and leaned over it slightly; his anger once again dominating the emotional tug-of-war within his soul. He could tell that Chet's respirations were increasing again and although he didn't want to cause the injured man any further duress, he did need to get him to realize the risk he was taking. "Chet, I don't know what's going on here but you and I both know that you did NOT cut your foot at that fire a little while ago. Now don't be stupid with this injury and cause yourself some major problems."

Chet felt like Roy could see his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing hitched and he tried to swallow back the rage that was beginning to surface. He could sense Roy's presence hovering over him in a smothering manner. The situation was further drying out his already parched throat causing his tongue to stick to his teeth; the taste of the smoke from the deadly blaze still coating the inside of his mouth. He wasn't sure if Roy meant that he would cause himself major health problems or major career problems but at this particular moment, he didn't care about either.

"Oh yea? Well when did you become a damn doctor? You're just a paramedic," Chet growled.

Roy could feel his jaw muscles clenching and releasing as he fought the urge to strangle the lineman. "It doesn't take a doctor to see when someone's faking an injury." He watched Chet's adam's apple move knowing he was swallowing back his nervousness. "There's a hole in your boot and a hole in your foot…so why isn't there a hole in your sock, huh?" He watched Chet's lips press together tightly and knew his words had hit their mark. "Paramedic's pay attention to little details like that…sshole."

Chet rolled his head back over to his left staring straight into the crystal blue eyes of Roy DeSoto and in a low gravelly voice through clinched teeth he spat out, "Go to hell!"

Roy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a wave of heat wash over him. He opened his mouth to respond just as the door opened and Sally walked in holding a mustard colored pitcher of ice water with a small matching plastic cup. "Here you go, Mr. Kelly…thought you might be really thirsty so I brought you a full pitcher." She filled the small cup with water and passed it to him.

"Thanks…and you can call me Chet. Mr. Kelly is…well, you can call me Chet."

Roy wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand as he listened to the conversation but it was Chet's hands that really captured his attention. Roy's first instinct was to help him hold the cup so that his shaking hand wouldn't spill the water he needed to wet his parched throat but Chet's stinging words were still slapping Roy in the face over and over again. Instead of helping his friend, he backed up closer to the door. He looked from Chet to Sally and then back at Chet. "I'm gonna go call Cap and let him know that he needs to call in a replacement."

Roy grabbed the handy talkie from the metal cabinet as he opened up the door and headed to the empty nurse's desk. He thought about his own vital signs being elevated from his encounter with Chet and he leaned against the desk for a moment to calm down before he dialed the station. He wasn't sure if the engine crew would be back yet or not but at least he had managed to put some distance between himself and the smart-mouthed injured lineman.

E!

Mike shifted the engine into reverse and backed into the bay. The ride back to the station had been a silent one and in many ways that concerned him. He stepped down from the driver's door, the slamming sound echoing in the semi-empty bay, and he turned to his left. Marco's dark eyes were staring at him and he could see the concern reflected in them too. They both watched as Hank shuffled to his office knowing that he was going to call Rampart for an update but also knowing that he might not like the news he would get when he called.

Hank reached for the phone and was startled by its ringing. "Station 51, Captain Hank Stanley speaking."

"Cap, it's Roy…uh, listen Chet came into Rampart a little while ago with an injured foot. He…ah, Doc says he's gonna be off for a few shifts so you'll need to call in a replacement." Roy straightened up leaning his hips against the nurse's station, one arm wrapped around his mid-section.

Hank leaned an elbow on his desk resting his weary head in his open palm. "Is he, um…is he alright?"

"Yea, Cap…it's just a cut on the bottom of his foot. He's getting it stitched up now."

Hank nodded, realizing that his paramedic couldn't see it on the phone. "Ahem, ok…um, what about the men from 36's?"

Roy hung his head, closing his eyes as he mustered up the strength to tell his captain the bad news. "Um, Jacobs is still in surgery. He had a badly broken leg and some internal injuries…"

Hank could tell by the pause in Roy's statement that the more severely injured man hadn't survived but he had to ask the question anyway. "And Carrigan?"

Roy inhaled sharply. "He…he didn't make it, Cap. Severe head trauma." He said; his voice barely a whisper.

"I see," Hank leaned back in his seat, fighting the lump in his throat. "Uh…let Chet know I'm thinking about him and I'll…I'll call headquarters for a…a replacement."

Roy listened to the clicking sound on the other end of the line. He slowly turned around and replaced the receiver; he couldn't stop the worry he was feeling for his captain.

"So, is Captain Stanley calling in a replacement for Mr. Kelly?"

Roy looked up into the face of Nurse Sally Lewis, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Um, that was quick." He cast a glance at the treatment room where he had left Chet just a few moments earlier.

"Oh, he…uh, he requested some privacy with Dr. Harrison. Sort of kicked me out," she said with a pearly white smile.

"Hmmm…wonder why?" Roy mused leaning his hips against the counter again when another voice joined the conversation.

"Hey I just saw the squad out front…where's Chet?" Johnny's red rimmed eyes looked up at his partner; their previous disagreements during the shift all but forgotten.

Roy cleared his throat before he answered. "Ahem, he injured his foot….he's getting stitches now," Roy said pointing the handy talkie in the direction of treatment room 4.

Johnny arched an eyebrow at his partner. "After we left?"

Roy looked down at his feet then back up at his partner; his only response was a simple shoulder shrug.

"Oh…," Johnny began then hesitated when he heard the three beeps broadcast from the handy talkie.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP….. "Squad 51, what's your status?"

Roy picked up the handy talkie. "Available."

"Standby for response," the dispatcher's voice called out.

Roy turned to Sally. "Let Chet know we'll take him home on our next trip in here, will you please?"

"Sure," she said watching the two paramedics quickly move in the direction of the emergency room door.

Inside treatment room four, Chet's breath hitched as he watched the young intern walk closer to the head of his exam table. "Ok, Mr. Kelly…it's just you and me in here now…what was it you wanted to tell me?"

"You promise you won't tell anybody? I mean…," Chet gulped unsure of how to proceed.

"Anything you tell me is held in the strictest confidence. Now, since your injury is job related, there may be a report to be made to your superiors. I'm still new here so I don't know all the protocols when it comes to the fire department but…unless you're a danger to yourself or to someone else, then whatever you tell me will remain confidential."

Chet took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as though the answer to his predicament was written inside his eyelids. His smut-covered hands scrubbed across his eyes and cheeks causing his bright blue eyes to stand out in stark contrast to the filthy backdrop of his soot covered face. "That's just it, Doc..."


	10. Chapter 10

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 10

"Mr. Kelly, I'm glad you let me know what really happened this morning. Otherwise, I could've closed that wound without treating you for potential infection."

Chet looked up at the young intern, feeling a sense of connectedness with the fellow Irishman. "Did I do a lot of damage?"

"I don't think so but that glass shard was deeply imbedded. I'm sure you've been in quite a bit of pain today. We'll watch it closely," he said as he finished bandaging up his patient's foot.

Chet saw an opportunity too good to pass up. "Oh…it hurt like a sonofa, uh, yea it hurt …probably gonna hurt again when this stuff wears off too, huh?"

Dr. Harrison smiled as he stepped closer to the head of the bed. "I can give you a prescription to take care of that. I'm also going to prescribe some pretty powerful antibiotics for you to take orally as well as give you an injection before you leave…kind of like a booster for the pills. If the pills cause you any stomach difficulties just let me know."

"Um…"

"Don't worry; you can fill them in the hospital pharmacy before you leave. You don't need to be driving for a few days anyway." Dr. Harrison patted Chet on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Doc. For everything….and you can call me Chet…I hate the Mr. Kelly stuff."

"Alright, is it ok for Sally to come back in and finish up?" He thought he knew the answer but he wanted the decision to be made by his patient.

"Oh, yea…yea, sure…just….well, I'd rather not have Roy or Johnny in here, ya know?" He explained propping himself up on his elbows.

"I understand," Dr. Harrison answered as he pushed through the exam room door. He saw Sally talking to the head nurse of the emergency department, both their faces downcast. He headed over to give her the orders for Chet's discharge.

"Ms. McCall, Ms. Lewis," he said in a subdued tone. "What's wrong?"

Dixie tried to smile at the intern she was quickly growing to like. "We lost a paramedic earlier…his partner's in ICU. These guys are," her sultry smoky voice hitched. "They're like family…living in the world of the fire department and the hospital, equally well."

"I'm very sorry."

"How's Chet?" Sally asked.

"He's gonna be alright." He reached inside his pocket and withdrew a prescription pad. "Here's what he needs before he can be discharged. Will you take care of this for me please?"

She took the paper from him; a smile crossing her lips as she read it. "He's going to hate this."

Dixie watched her remove what was needed from the supply cabinet and a semblance of a smile found its way on her rosy lips. She knew just how Chet was going to react; she'd given Johnny the same medication several times. The sound of Dr. Harrison's voice brought her mind back to the present.

"Ms. McCall? Is Johnny the name of Roy DeSoto's partner?"

"John Gage, yes…why do you ask?"

Dr. Harrison just smiled. "Oh, Chet was just throwing some names around and I'm still learning who's who. I met Roy DeSoto but not his partner…just wanted to make sure I had the names right."

The thought of her favorite paramedic duo finally coaxed a fleeting smile to Dixie's face. "Well, those two are quite well known around here…you'll have plenty of chances to meet Johnny….and he's as likely to be a patient as a paramedic," she snickered.

E!

Inside treatment room 4, Sally was trying to maintain a professional face. "Ok, Chet, I've got a shot for you and then I'll get you a pair of crutches. Dr. Harrison is calling in your prescriptions to the pharmacy and I'll go pick them up for you before you leave."

"Da…uh, darn I hate needles," he said with a grimace as he pushed himself up to a seated position and began rolling up his sleeve.

Sally stifled a giggle, shaking her head negatively. "Uh…no, no Chet. I'm going to need for you to lie back and pull your pants down."

"Ugh," he began, plopping himself back down on the pillow and reaching for his belt. The lineman's old personality fought to escape the confines of his current downtrodden mental state, if only for a moment. "Been a long time since I heard that," he mumbled, hoping it was too soft for her to hear. The exam table squeaked with the shifting of his weight as he turned on his right side, baring his left lower cheek to the pretty nurse. But, she had indeed heard him and the situation left both of them blushing as she swabbed down the intended area on his hip.

"There…now how was that?" She asked, placing a small band-aide on the injection site.

"Humiliating," he scoffed, turning back over and refastening his pants, his somberness returning in full force.

"You don't have anything to be embarrassed about," she said with a grin. "I've seen it all before."

"Hummph."

"Ok, I'm going to get you those crutches and your prescriptions. Do you need anything else?"

Chet stared unblinkingly at his bandaged foot, pulling up his zipper and tightening his belt. "Um, yea…do you mind making a phone call for me?"

E!

Silence permeated the cab of Squad 51, neither paramedic knowing exactly how to begin the conversation they both knew was necessary. Their call had not resulted in a transport; it had merely been a couple of young boys who had dared each other to stuff themselves with pizza and soda – not the massive outbreak of stomach flu their mother had thought.

Now as Roy drove back to Rampart to pick up Chet as promised, he couldn't help but feel that he owed his partner an apology. He looked over at Johnny who was riding with one arm propped up in the open window, fingertips lightly tapping the red metal ledge. He waited for a moment to see if Johnny would meet his gaze but when he didn't, Roy returned his eyes to the road ahead.

Johnny felt the heat rising up around his neck. He could feel Roy staring at him and knew the man was waiting for an apology. After all, they had both seen Chet carry the firefighter from 36's out of the burning building; a fete that he most likely couldn't have completed if Johnny's accusations had been correct. Just when he turned to face Roy, the other man turned forward again and the moment was gone. Johnny faked a cough into his closed fist then began.

"Ahu…uh, R…"

"Joh…"

Both men interrupted each other then smiled realizing that they were once again in sync.

"Me first, Johnny….ok?" Roy swiped the blinker making the wide sweeping left turn.

"Sure."

"I'm…I'm really sorry I treated you like a kid this morning."

Johnny was stunned to his core. Roy was the one apologizing? He arched one eyebrow in his partner's direction. "Huh?"

_C'mon, Junior…stop milking this. _"I said I'm sorry for how I…"

"No, no, I heard what you said…but I don't understand why you said it?" Johnny shifted in his seat so that he was able to see Roy a little better, even in the darkened cab.

Roy made the turn into the entrance of Rampart Emergency Room's parking lot, waiting for a yellow cab to back out of its parking spot before pulling the squad to a stop in the vacated space. He exhaled audibly then turned to face his long time best friend. "Because you're right."

"'Bout what?"

"About, Chet. Johnny…I don't know what's going on with him exactly but now I see what you and Marco have been seeing." His blue eyes darted about the inside of the squad before finally landing on the face of the bewildered John Gage.

"But…but you and I both saw him carry Carrigan out of that building. So…so, he must be a'right." Johnny ran his fingers through his dark hair trying to process what he was hearing. "I was goin' to apologize to you for actin' like a jerk all day."

Roy bounced his knee in a move that seemed to be taken right out of the Johnny Gage handbook of nervous behaviors. He wanted to tell Johnny what he knew about Chet's injury but he also didn't want to drag the man into a compromising situation with their shiftmate. "Look…I…when I was in the exam room with Chet earlier…," Roy huffed, searching for the right way to explain his predicament. "I…well, I noticed something that let me know that…that I was wrong to defend him…to not intervene…like you did."

"Roy," Johnny swallowed hard as trepidation tickled the back of his throat. "What do you know? What aren't you tellin' me?"

"I can't tell you…exactly, I mean…but you've just gotta trust me on this one," he looked up pleading for his partner to understand. "The man's in trouble…no doubt about it. I just…I just don't know what to do."

Johnny's voice softened markedly as his words gently floated around the inside of the dark and silent cavern of the squad. "Whatever it takes."

Roy looked up then, waiting for Johnny to explain what he meant.

"You…we," he flicked his left hand between the two of them, "I do trust you, Roy…you know that. So…we do whatever it takes to help him. Same as we'd want done for us."

The volume and tone of Roy's voice matched Johnny's in a message that spoke volumes between them. "Same as we'd do for each other?"

"Yep," Johnny said with a hint of his crooked grin, "Pally." He waited for Roy to respond with 'Junior' but when he didn't Johnny realized just how upset his partner really was with the situation. "Roy?" He asked grasping his partner's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

"Yea?"

"You can call me Junior."

Roy tried to smile. He wanted to believe that everything was back to normal between them but in his heart, he knew things had been said that were still painful. He thought for a moment about the paramedic who had died earlier and the one who was still clinging to life in the ICU a couple of floors above them. Then, realizing that any call the two of them went on could prove to be their last, he reached for the door handle. "C'mon….Junior."

The two men headed for the emergency entrance with a lightness in their step that had been missing all shift; neither one realizing just how important their friendship would be for the attempted rescue of their coworker which they were about to begin.

E!

Sally removed the sheet from the exam table in treatment room four and was headed to the soiled laundry bin when she noticed Chet's damaged boot lying on its side in the corner. "Uh-oh," she spoke in a soft voice, reaching down and retrieving the dirty, damaged item. She hurriedly rushed from the room and into the corridor when she saw her supervisor walking towards two familiar paramedics. Carrying the boot at her side, she rushed to the intersection of the emergency entrance and corridor where the trio appeared to be meeting.

"Well, that was quick," Dixie said, her face still gloomy from the earlier tragic events.

"Yea…too much RC cola and pepperoni pizza."

Roy looked at his partner's lopsided smirk and nodded his head in silent agreement.

"Oh, so you aren't bringing us any more business then?" She asked, slipping her neatly manicured hands into the pockets of her white uniform.

"No, we're just here to pick up…"

"Has he left yet?" Sally called out as she neared the three friends.

The paramedics and Dixie both looked over at the young nurse who stood before them with a boot dangling at her side.

"Who?" Johnny asked; a quizzical expression plastered across his chiseled face.

"Mr. Kelly…Chet."

"No, we just got back from a run but we're here to pick him up. He should be ready to leave by now," Roy explained.

Sally pressed her lips into a thin line of exasperation. "No," she said turning toward the emergency room entrance. "I called a cab for him."

Roy and Johnny exchanged a worried glance that did not go unnoticed by the head nurse. "Is something wrong?" Roy asked.

Sally stood outside the entrance turning first to her left and then to her right in search of the injured man or the yellow cab she had called to take him home. "Rats," she exclaimed just as Dixie, Roy and Johnny stepped through the doors to join her.

"Why'd he take a cab? He knew we were comin' back for him."

Sally looked back at the dark haired paramedic. "I…I don't know, John. He just asked me to call a cab for him so I did. But he, uh…" she hesitated, lifting the sooty boot for emphasis. "He left his boot."

Roy reached out quickly and secured the boot in his own hand. "I'll get it to him in the morning. I'm going over to change his dressing."

Johnny placed both hands on his narrow hips, looking at Roy as if he had temporarily taken leave of his senses. "But…,"

"Oh no! I forgot to give him the extra supplies," Sally said raising her hand to cover her mouth.

"Don't worry, I can take them with me now so I'll have them in the morning."

"Thanks, Roy. I'll go get them," Sally called out over her right shoulder as she rounded the corner headed toward treatment room four.

"Well, that's certainly nice of you, Roy."

Johnny cut his eyes from Roy to Dixie and then back to Roy. "Yea," he agreed with Dixie's comment. "It sure is."

"Hey…just one friend helping out another," he smiled knowingly at his partner and it didn't take Johnny long to get the unspoken message.

In short order, Sally thrust a small bag of supplies into Roy's hands. "Thank you so much. Please tell him I hope he's back on his feet soon."

"Back on his feet, huh?" Roy snickered a bit. "Don't you mean back on his foot?"

Roy and Johnny waved to the two nurses then each opened his respective door of the squad.

"You gonna go by and check on him when you get off shift?"

Roy looked over at his partner as he cranked up the squad. "Yea…wanna join me?" He asked flatly.

Johnny gave a snort then faced forward looking into the night. "Yep…gotta get to the bottom of this."

"Whatever it takes, right Junior?" Roy asked pulling out of the parking lot.

"Whatever it takes, Pally."

E!

Chet opened his eyes when he felt the familiar bump of the speed breaker on his street. He fished his wallet out of his pants pocket just as the cabby brought the car to a complete stop. He retrieved the necessary bills then struggled to remove himself from the backseat; not an easy task with crutches and a bag of pills with which to contend.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime, sir."

Chet watched the tail lights on the yellow cab bob up and down as it crossed the speed bump again on its way back out to the main street. He folded the small paper sack containing his supply of medication so that it would fit inside his pocket then clasped the handgrips on his crutches. The walk to his second floor apartment was torture but he managed to make it and neither dropped his medication nor stumbled on the crutches. He was out of breath when he finally reached the top step of the flight and then carefully maneuvered his way to his apartment. Dots of perspiration had formed across his forehead along his hairline and beneath his mustache-adorned upper lip. He bent down as best he could and pulled back the upper right corner of the outdoor rug. There lay his key, exactly where he had left it months ago. Once again, he was grateful to live in an apartment complex where he trusted his neighbors.

Once he'd gained entrance, he tossed the key unceremoniously onto the end table nearest the television set and dropped heavily into the recliner to prop up his foot. It had been a long hard day and now he needed to figure out a way to get out of the mess he was in with the least amount of damage possible…if he escape it at all.

E!

Marco stepped out of the shower having taken advantage of the engine being stood down while they waited on Chet's replacement. His right shoulder was sore but he was otherwise uninjured from his rescue on their last run. He pulled on a t-shirt over his boxers then walked across the cold cement floor to the dorm room. He sat down on his bed preparing his bunkers for a night run. After positioning his boots in the perfect spot for him to step into at the sound of the klaxons, he sat staring at the empty bunk beside his own. He had heard Hank's explanation that Chet had injured his foot on the last run. But Marco had been replaying the events of the day over and over again in his mind and he kept coming back to the same conclusion; Chet had injured his foot earlier in the day, possibly at the transformer fire. The one thing he couldn't understand was why he had waited so long to seek medical treatment.

"Marco?"

Dark brown eyes looked up at the tall figure standing over him. He hadn't heard anyone enter and the sound of his name had startled him a little. "Oh…I'm sorry, Mike. Just thinking about that last run is all."

"You and Chet did everything you could to save them both. Don't beat yourself up. Jacobs is still alive and if you hadn't gotten him out when you did then he'd have never had a chance." There was more Mike wanted to say but he needed to make sure Marco was okay before he broached the subject of their other lineman.

"Yea…I know. Thanks, Mike." He looked back down at his hands resting in his lap. He knew that he and Mike had not agreed on Chet's situation but with Johnny still out on a run, he didn't have anyone else to turn to and he needed to tell someone about his suspicions. "I…I think I need to go talk to Cap," he mentioned reaching down to pull on his bunkers.

Mike laid a hand on Marco's shoulder. "Um, can I talk to you a minute first? I…I have some concerns about Chet too."

Marco slowly sat back up straighter, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Like what?"

Mike sat down on Chet's bed looking eye to eye with Marco. "You've told me that you've been worried about him for a while now and…well, I guess I sort of dismissed your concerns. But he said something to me this morning that…um, I knew something was wrong about it but I just couldn't put my finger on it."

Marco waited for his engineer to continue but when he didn't, Marco prodded a little. "What'd he say?"

Mike leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and his head down for a moment. He didn't want to make something out of nothing but Chet's statement had been nagging at him all day. Now, he remembered why. He looked up, blue eyes staring at the waiting Marco. "He lied to me this morning, Marco. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why?"

Marco felt his shoulder's slump. If Chet had lied to Mike, their straight as an arrow engineer, then he and Johnny had not been wrong about him. He cleared his throat, needing to know more. "When? About what?"

Mike pressed his palms into his knees, rising to a standing position as he exhaled loudly. "He was complaining about Gage bugging him. He told me that nothing was wrong with him like Gage thought; said that he was just tired from scraping the eaves of his apartment complex and repainting them for his landlady." Mike watched for a reaction from Marco but saw him knit his eyebrows together in confusion. Then Marco's facial muscles relaxed and he stood up joining his engineer.

"But…that can't be, Mike. His…"

"I know. It hit me when we drove by there on the way to that last run. I was going to confront him about it when we got back but," he propped his hands on his hips and turned his upper torso towards the exit.

"You wanna do it when we get off shift? I'll go with you," Marco offered, encouragement sounding in his voice.

"He'll probably be asleep," Mike said.

"Then we'll wake him up. This is important, Mike. I don't think we need to wait."

Mike hesitated, not really wanting to confront the man when he was injured. But he also knew that Marco was right. "I think you're right. I don't think it can wait….especially since Carrigan didn't make it."

Marco hung his head; Mike's words coupled with the soreness in his shoulder reminding him of the loss of one of their brothers a few hours earlier, "Yea…"


	11. Chapter 11

Warning: Strong language

A House Divided – Chapter 11

Roy eased the squad back into her resting spot beside the engine. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was 0320. "Maybe we can get a little sleep," he mumbled through a yawn. When he got no answer, he cast a sideways glance at his passenger just as his foot tapped the break.

Johnny's head bobbed and his upper torso pitched forward nearly slamming him into the dashboard. "Hmmm, wha?" He asked smacking his dry lips together. His dark eyes peeled open to see his partner's mouth stretched in a very unflattering yawn.

"Yea…me too," he grumbled, slapping around a few times along the door panel in search of the handle.

"Hey, Johnny?"

"Humm?" The sleepy dark haired paramedic groaned.

Roy looked down at the damaged boot in his hand then noted the rest of the turnouts crammed in the middle of the seat of the squad. "I'm gonna put these in my car. I'll need to take 'em to Chet in the mor…I mean, in a little while," he drawled uncharacteristically from exhaustion.

Johnny merely waved his hand in Roy's direction as he made his way around the engine and into the dorm room. He chose to forgo removing his clothes figuring the squad would get toned out again before wake-up klaxons sounded anyway.

In back of the station, Roy tossed the turnouts unceremoniously into the passenger's seat of his Porsche. He then turned around and headed back to the dorm. Once inside, he toed off his shoes and upon seeing Johnny asleep in full uniform, he decided to do the same. He lay down on his bunk and in a matter of seconds he too dozed off, his gentle snores creating a harmony of sorts as they joined with those from the rest of the guys.

E!

Chet tossed restlessly in his recliner. He had decided to sleep there so he could elevate his foot just as Dr. Harrison had advised. Sweat beads popped out along his forehead while he tossed his head from side to side unable to escape the nightmare that had him trapped within its piercing claws.

_Once again, he was inside a dark closet listening to his shiftmates ridicule him from outside the door. Roy was taunting him about doing so poorly on the engineer's exam while Johnny threatened to drown him because of all the water bombs the phantom had deployed. Marco chided him about his slow drill times and Mike blasted him for losing his badge so often. In the background was the most frightening voice of all. Hank Stanley could be heard groaning in agony._

"_Chester B. Kelly, I depended on you to get him out…you let him die. It's your fault."_

_Chet hugged his knees to his chest whimpering like a frightened little boy trying to block out the voices. But strong arms reached around him pulling him tightly against a large overpowering unseen chest as a familiar voice rumbled in his ear._

"_See, they know you're a failure just like I do, you little bastard!"_

_Chet tried to calm his heart and control his breathing but his father's words kept echoing inside his head. "I should've known you would turn out like this….I don't know why I even tried."_

Chet struggled to draw in a breath with the pressure of his father's strong arms pinning him tightly to the older man's chest. Finally, a choking cough erupted, waking him from the hellish nightmare.

"Arrgh…ahua…," he jumped, blue eyes darting around inside his dark apartment until he realized he was at home and not in the death grips of Charles Kelly.

He ran his sweaty palms down his weary face becoming aware of the pain in his foot throbbing again. He slowly lowered the footrest of his recliner and hobbled over to the table where he'd left his pain medication. He pulled out the navy blue bottle and read the instructions on the white label.

"Take one tablet every four hours with food," he read out loud. He used his thumb to pop off the lid then shook two out into the palm of his hand. Tossing them to the back of his throat, he used furniture and walls to maneuver around until he made his way into his kitchen for a glass of water. As soon as he'd gulped enough to wash down the two white pills, he opened up a cabinet above his refrigerator where he kept his whiskey and finished filling up the glass. The amber liquid was barely diluted by the small amount of water he'd mixed it with then he leaned his head back and took two big gulps.

"Aaaahhh, shit!" He whispered hoarsely in his empty kitchen as soon as he had gotten his breath back. He felt the burn of the whiskey as it rushed down his throat into his empty belly and he gripped the counter tighter and forced his eyes tightly shut. After another round of coughing, he hobbled back into the living room and into his recliner. He continued to sip his whiskey and water for another half hour as he waited for the pain to subside and his frayed nerves to calm down from his nightmare. Between the mixture of alcohol and analgesic, his eyelids began to droop. He set the glass containing the remnants of his whiskey and water on the end table next to the bottle of pain medication. A quick glance at his watch told him it was 0600.

"Maybe I can get a little more sleep now," he muttered to himself pulling the afghan up around his throat and closing his eyes.

E!

Roy heard the tones sounding and assumed they were wake-up tones until he heard the voice of the dispatcher. He pulled himself up seeing Johnny, tufts of dark hair sticking out around his head, rolling out of bed as well.

"Engine 51…trash fire…"

The two paramedics crashed back down on their beds while Mike, Marco and Chet's replacement pulled on their bunkers, snapping their suspenders over their t-shirts and hustled out the door of the dorm.

Hank pushed open the kitchen door, dressed in his t-shirt and bunker pants, to acknowledge the call.

"Engine 51, KMG-365," he said tearing off the slip just as Sam's voice echoed inside the bay.

"Time out, 0600."

Mike made a mental note of where his captain had been at the time the tones sounded. He hoped that the older man hadn't been up all night.

E!

What seemed like only seconds later, wake-up tones sounded pulling Roy and Johnny out of a dead sleep. Roy was the first to make it to the radio and acknowledge the call.

"Hmmmph, I thought for sure we'd be called out again."

Roy looked at Johnny who was trying to tame his unruly hair with only his fingers. "Yea…me too."

"Let's get some coffee going. I'm sure the guys are gonna need it when they get back." With that, Johnny pushed open the dorm door and made his way to the kitchen.

Roy didn't follow his partner, opting instead for the locker room. He had learned a long time ago that brushing his teeth was a pretty good way to fight lack of sleep. It seemed to wake him up even more than coffee. He stepped passed Chet's locker then backed up. Feeling like a snitch, he opened it up to see if he could find Chet's van keys. At least then they could explain why Johnny had come along with Roy to change Chet's dressing. He groped around inside the locker but found no keys. "Well, we can do it later," he mumbled to himself as he pulled open his own locker and removed his toiletry bag.

By the time Roy pushed open the door of the kitchen, Johnny had the room smelling of percolating coffee. "Smells good."

Johnny was sitting at the table with his chin propped in the palm of his hand. "Maybe it'll wake me up."

"You sure you're up for this?" Roy asked with concern in his voice.

"For what? Coffee?"

Roy smirked, pulling a couple of cups down out of the cabinet. "No, going over to Chet's place."

Johnny leaned back in his chair with a huff. "Yea…we gotta do somethin'."

"This probably won't be pretty, you know?" Roy needed to know that Johnny was truly up for the task that lay ahead.

"I know…and I know what you're thinkin'." He looked up at his partner who was now leaning against the cabinet. "You're thinkin' me and Chet'll get into some kind of altercation. Well, don't." He returned his eyes to the top of the table. "'Cause this ain't gonna be my first rodeo."

Roy gulped as he took in Johnny's words. Obviously, his friend had dealt with difficult people before but Roy sensed that Johnny was talking about someone very close to him who had been in a similar situation.

"Ok…coffee's ready," he said turning to pour the two of them a cup.

Time seemed to have stopped moving while the two men waited for shift change. Both silently hoped that they wouldn't be called out as they wanted to get to Chet's apartment as soon as they could. Both men had heavy hearts, both for the loss of Paramedic Carrigan and for Chet's circumstance but neither man felt able to discuss it with the other and so, in silence, they waited and watched the clock.

Finally, when their replacements arrived and they each changed into their street clothes, they headed out to their respective vehicles. As they walked across the back lot, they heard Mike backing the engine inside the bay.

"That took a while for a trash fire," Roy mused.

"Musta been more to it once they got there."

Roy looked over at his partner. "Yea…we know what it's like to be surprised on a run, don't we?"

"That we do," Johnny groaned opening up his rover's door. "I'll follow you," he called over to Roy then reached above the visor for his sunglasses.

Roy waved his acknowledgement then backed his Porsche out of its usual spot behind the station. As they both turned right onto 223rd street, the duo waved goodbye to Mike who was stepping down out of the engine pulling off his turnout coat.

E!

Roy slowed to a crawl as he drove over the speed breaker along the street in front of Chet's apartment. He glanced in his rearview mirror and smiled as he saw Johnny take it at full speed then bounce around inside his white land rover. He made the turn into Chet's apartment complex then found a parking spot where he waited for Johnny to pull up beside him.

Johnny saw the look on Roy's face and knew the man was dreading the upcoming confrontation. Truthfully, he was dreading it too but he also felt a small sense of peace because finally they were going to do something besides watch their friend spiral downwards.

Roy pulled out the pile of turnouts and the bag of supplies Sally had given him. Then together, he and Johnny walked up the stairs to the second floor. As soon as they found the right door, Johnny knocked and the two paramedics stood anxiously waiting for the door to open.

E!

Marco and Mike both decided to shower before they went over to Chet's apartment. They both smelled of smoke plus the shower would wake them up a little as well. As soon as that task was accomplished, they hurriedly packed their duffle bags.

Marco was familiar enough with Chet's habits that he knew where the younger man kept his car keys. He retrieved them from their hiding place on the hook inside his locker, grabbed Chet's duffle bag and walked out behind his engineer. Neither man spoke of the upcoming confrontation; both silently playing over and over in their minds how they were going to tackle the topic.

E!

Johnny looked at Roy with concern etched on his face. He turned back to the dark apartment door and knocked again for the third time. "C'mon, Chet…open up."

Roy dropped his load of turnouts and knocked. "Chet, it's Roy…gotta check on that foot," he called out hoping they weren't disturbing Chet's neighbor's.

After what seemed like an eternity, they heard some movement inside the apartment. Both men breathed a collective sigh of relief. But no one answered the door.

Inside the small dwelling, Chet's groggy brain finally registered the knocking on his front door. He got up and hobbled over scrunching up his face to look through his peep hole. Upon seeing and hearing the voice of his nemesis, he refused to open the door. He stumbled over to his sofa and plopped down on it, dizziness and nausea hitting him in waves. "What the…?" Finally, once those waves of discomfort subsided, he pulled back the curtain and cracked open the window just enough to speak to the paramedic duo.

"Hey…whatcha doin', man?" His voice sounding a bit slurred even to him.

Roy and Johnny spun to their left following the sound of Chet's voice.

"We're here to change that dressing, remember?"

Chet squinted his eyes at the morning sun shining in his window. "Nooope," he drawled out.

"C'mon, Chet. Let us take a look at ya." Johnny pleaded.

"What for? I a'ready know I'm not fit for duty so ya got nothin' to go bitch to Cap 'bout."

Roy and Johnny exchanged knowing looks. They could tell by Chet's voice that he was not well but they had no idea how to get him to allow them entry into his apartment. Finally, Roy stepped closer and kneeled down beside the open window. "Come on, Chet. You're going to get me in trouble with that new intern at Rampart. Now, I told him I'd change your dressing and that's why I'm here." Roy hoped his soft soothing voice would calm the agitated man.

"Screw 'im!"

Johnny stepped over then. "We're not leavin' 'till you let us in. Don't want your neighbor's callin' the cops now do ya?"

"Ha…jokes on you, Gage. They're all workin' or at school. Jus' how I like it. Now…get da hell off my doorstep."

Roy could tell the situation was deteriorating quickly. He knew they needed to get inside to check on their friend and he briefly considered calling for a squad. But the idea quickly left him. He knew that in the long run it might make matters even worse. As long as Chet was talking then they knew his airway wasn't compromised and he was conscious and alert on at least a minimal level.

"Chet…what've you taken?"

"Huh?" Chet looked up at Roy and saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"You're slurring your words so you've taken something. What was it?" Roy was beginning to move from concerned friend to panicky paramedic and he knew he needed to get as much information as he could while Chet was talking; he just hoped that the information he was given wasn't another lie. "Did Dr. Harrison give you something or did you take something on your own?"

"None o' ya business…you ain't my damn doctor," Chet said with more than a hint of anger in his voice.

"No…but I am your friend. Let me in so I can help you." Roy pleaded; his voice remaining calm. He could sense Johnny pacing behind him but was glad that at the moment the young man was staying out of Chet's line of vision.

"Yea, right. Screw you too, DeSoto. I don't have any friends anymore. I don't have nobody. I don't even know who the hell I am. So quit wastin' your time and just do what I tol' ya. Leave!"

"You know we can get in don't you? I mean, we've broken down plenty of doors in emergencies…," Roy began but was interrupted by a now shouting Chet.

"Humph…if ya do, I'm callin' the fuzz!"

"I think that might be a really good idea, Chet." Roy looked up at his partner then back at their shiftmate. "I think you should call the cops and tell them that two guys are trying to break into your apartment. They'll be here in no time."

Even through the haziness of Chet's brain, he understood what Roy meant. If he called the police, then they would arrive to find two L.A. County paramedics trying to gain entry into an apartment for a medical emergency. If that happened, then Johnny and Roy would get permission to break down the door. And there would be nothing Chet could do to stop them.

"GO….AWAY, damn you, DeSoto. I got 'nough pro'lems without havin' to replace a freakin' busted door. So, jus' go play super heroes to so'body who needs ya. So'body worth helpin'." With those last words, he slammed the window shut.

Roy turned around to see his partner eyeing up the locking mechanism on the door then taking a couple of steps backwards. "Don't, Johnny."

"Whatcha mean, don't? We gotta get in there!" Johnny's ire had risen exponentially as he had listened to the conversation between Chet and Roy play out.

"We can't just go breaking in doors," Roy reasoned.

"Then why'd ya just tell him we would?" Johnny propped both hands on his hips exasperatedly.

"I didn't say we would, I said we could. I was just trying to get him to let us in." Roy explained returning to a standing position.

Johnny spun around leaning both hands against the railing as he stared into the parking lot, blood pressure rising. Then he saw a sight that finally brought a slight grin to his face. "Roy?"

"Yea?"

"The cavalry just arrived."

E!

Mike turned his pick-up truck into the parking lot of Chet's apartment complex followed closely by Marco driving Chet's volkswagon van. He saw the dark cedar stained wood siding and immediately looked at the eaves. They too were stained cedar…not newly scraped and painted as Chet had told him. He shook his head negatively as he remembered the sincerity in the lineman's voice when he'd told Mike about being tired from working for his landlady. He remembered how something just didn't add up about that statement and now as he pulled into a parking spot beside Roy's Porsche, he was looking at the reason why. He just wished that he'd remembered while he and Chet were actually having the conversation then maybe all this could have been avoided.

Marco pulled Chet's van into his usual parking spot then got out. He looked up and saw John Gage leaning against the railing with Roy knocking on Chet's door behind him. "Wonder why they're here?"

Mike looked up noting the obvious relief on Johnny's face and fear gripped his heart squeezing it with icy cold fingers. "I don't know….but it probably isn't for a game of poker."

Mike saw Johnny quickly waving them up and he and Marco took the stairs two at a time. When they rounded the corner, they saw both paramedics with worried expressions on their faces.

"He won't let us in and he's taken something." Roy spat out the words as if they were on a run.

"I can get us in," Marco said holding up Chet's key ring. There were several keys on the metallic circle with the fire department emblem and it took a few tries to find the right one. Once he did, he clicked the lock on the doorknob and then shoved the key into the deadbolt lock above it wiggling it until he heard the clicking sound they were all listening for.

Inside the apartment, Chet was seething. He heard Marco's voice telling the others that he could get the door open and he heard the keys twisting inside the lock. "Damn them all to hell…," he groaned through clenched teeth. His respirations increased and he began to shake with anger; his heart slamming around inside his chest like a caged animal desperately searching for a route of escape. He felt as if he were being violated and smothered at the same time. If they came inside his apartment then they weren't respecting his privacy or him as a man. He couldn't let them inside his apartment any more than he could let them inside his personal nightmare; the thing that he himself hadn't even known until a few months ago. No, he couldn't allow his innermost secret to be exposed…not to anybody but especially not to these guys. He had struggled to severe the close ties he'd once felt with them opting instead for a more casual relationship. He crawled over to the recliner where he'd left his crutches and clutched one as if it were a weapon. His sweaty fingers wrapped around the handgrip while he pinned the arm pad against his shoulder as if it were a gunstock. He's spent time in the military and he knew how to fight. He also knew he was outnumbered so the element of surprise was his only chance at defeating them. He stumbled over to the sofa beside the door where he'd have the perfect angle on the man he once called his friend. Now, in Chet's mind he was merely an intruder…his home, his privacy, even his soul felt as if it were being invaded and he was determined to protect it. He assumed a defensive stance, repositioned his fingers around the handgrip and waited for the squeaking sound of his opening front door.

E!

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has left reviews and sent me PM's. You've really encouraged my muse to work overtime. I truly appreciate it.


	12. Chapter 12

Warning: Very strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 12

Johnny stood leaning against the door waiting for Marco to unlock it; his anxiety level over his shift mate's condition growing with each passing second. The fatalistic tone of Chet's voice felt like fingernails digging into Johnny's heart as if Chet were trying with all his might to find a way to hold on just a little longer until his friends could rescue him from the beast pulling him by the ankles deeper and deeper into the dark bottomless pit. Finally, Johnny heard the deadbolt click and his slim fingers reached for the doorknob. He slid sideways through the open doorway slipping behind Marco who was trying to retrieve the key from the sticky lock. Suddenly, his brain registered a guttural yell just as a jolt hit him, slamming him against the inside wall of Chet's living room. He doubled over in agony waiting for the wave of nausea he knew from experience was about to overtake him.

"Arruugh," Johnny fell to the floor curled in a fetal position clutching his groin area, eyes sealed tightly shut.

"What the hell?" Marco's wide eyes glowered at his partner. He saw absolute rage in the younger man's bloodshot eyes as he pulled back the crutch preparing to swing it at Marco's knees.

Fortunately, the combination of narcotics and alcohol had slowed Chet's reflexes and Marco swiftly grabbed the crutch, maneuvering it sideways while shoving Chet on his back and using it to pin Chet's body against the sofa.

"Ooomph!" Marco's swiftness caught Chet off guard and the younger man gasped as he was thrown backwards, the wooden crutch crushed securely against his chest and throat. The makeshift restraint had the desired effect causing Chet's face to turn red in a mixture of surprise, anger and strain.

"Damn it, Marco," he groaned out through his dry lips. "Get…off…me!"

Mike watched the action from just outside the doorway and as soon as he saw Roy drop to one knee beside Johnny, he rushed to assist Marco. He saw the older lineman leaning on the crutch and Chet's legs kicking wildly in panic. Mike leaned forward on Chet's squirming legs, pressing his weight just above the young lineman's knees in an effort to keep him from further harming himself or anyone else.

Meanwhile, Johnny coughed as he rolled over onto his back with his knees bent and parted allowing as much room for his injury as possible. He cupped both hands protectively over his manhood fearing that Chet's assault may have caused permanent damage. "Ahua…ohhh…uhh….ahua, hua."

"Johnny?" Roy bent down placing a comforting hand on his partner's shoulder. "You okay?" He asked then realized just how stupid the question must have sounded to his injured friend.

"Hell, no!" He groaned pitifully, eyes watering from the pain. "Ahua," he coughed rolling back onto his side in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. "I'm gonna….kill that….ahua…bastard!" All previous concern for Chet's welfare vanquished, at least for the moment.

"I understand, Pally. Just lay here for a minute until it passes. Are you nauseated?" Roy saw that Johnny was diaphoretic and knew that he probably should be finding a garbage can or something for him.

"Ahua…yea," he groaned, blowing the air out of his lungs forcefully thereby causing his cheeks to puff out. "I'm….gonna…ah…"

"Be right back," Roy rushed into the kitchen pulling open cabinet doors searching for something to use as an emesis basin. He found a bucket under Chet's sink and returned quickly to Johnny's side, noting the scuffle occurring on the sofa. "Here ya go…easy up now," he said, guiding Johnny onto his hands and knees, head hanging over the bucket. "I'm gonna go check on Chet."

Johnny nodded just as the first wave overtook him and he began to heave into the bucket.

Roy heard the sounds of retching and spitting behind him and knew he'd better not turn around. That was one thing he never got used to as a paramedic, vomiting. At least this time it wasn't some drunkard he didn't know vomiting on his clean uniform.

"Calm down, Kelly," Mike grunted, still leaning over on top of the shorter man's legs being mindful of Chet's injured foot.

"Arrgh," Chet groaned trying to push the crutch away from his chest. "Damn…you, motherfu…" he began.

"Cut it out, Chet!" Marco yelled; leaning mere inches above the younger man's face.

"Chester B. Kelly, either stop fighting or I'm calling a squad to take you to Rampart!" Roy watched as his words had the desired effect. He knew Chet was in enough trouble without adding another self-inflicted medical report to his growing list of strikes against him. He saw the fight begin to leave the younger man and listened to his heavy breathing take the place of his groaning and swearing. "There…now that's better."

Marco cut his eyes in Roy's direction and saw the paramedic give him a subtle nod. He understood it and began to relinquish the pressure against the crutch. Finally, when he saw that Chet wasn't going to resume his efforts, he stood up pulling the crutch out of the grasp of his panting partner.

Mike held onto Chet's legs a little longer to ensure he wasn't going to kick him. Slowly, he relaxed the pressure until he felt Chet slowly shift his legs beneath Mike's hands but the effort was only to seek a bit of comfort from the pressure, not an attempt to inflict harm or to flee. "Easy now," he said as he finally let go completely. He then stood up and turned his attention to his gagging shift mate behind him.

"I'll get you a cold rag, John."

Johnny used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, nodding his head slightly in response to his engineer's voice.

Marco stood up, taking the crutch over to the recliner and setting it down beside the other one. He noticed the pill bottle and the glass with some amber colored liquid in it beside the recliner. "Hey, DeSoto?"

Roy, who had been counting Chet's respirations, looked up. Marco was holding the glass and the pill bottle in his hands and was wearing a grimace on his face.

He sniffed the remnants of the drink. "It isn't iced tea, either," he proclaimed.

"What's in the bottle?" Roy asked.

Marco twisted the bottle to read the label. "Hydrocodone."

Roy looked down at his friend-turned-patient who was lying breathless with his eyes closed and his forearm draped over his forehead. "Chet, did you take it with alcohol?" He tried to keep his voice in a tone that was as non-judgmental as he could. Accusatory remarks would do nothing to help Chet at the moment. Right now, the young man needed compassion as much as he needed help and Roy knew it.

"S-so what? My foot was…botherin' me…couldn't sleep."

"That combination will make you sleep permanently, amigo." Marco regretted his words as soon as they'd escaped his lips. He handed the bottle to Roy's outstretched hand then set the glass back down on the end table.

Roy read the label even though he already knew that mixing it with alcohol was contraindicated. Instinctively, he opened the bottle pouring out the contents into his hand and counting the pills, comparing the number in his hand to the quantity on the label. He then poured them back inside the navy blue plastic bottle and snapped the lid on before handing them back to Marco. He tapped his shirt pocket a couple of times and watched as Marco understood the message, slipping the small bottle inside his own shirt pocket for safekeeping.

"Chet," Roy spoke softly, lightly shaking the lineman. "Chet, you still with me?"

"Y-yea."

"I know you've taken two since you got them around 0100. I need to know when and how closely together?" Roy continued to use his most calm and reassuring voice hoping for at least a little cooperation from Chet.

"Ugh…'bout 0600, I think. W-why?"

"Did you take them both at the same time?" Roy asked flatly, glancing at his watch seeing that it was nearly 0900.

"S'what…if I did?" He responded defiantly, heels scrubbing agitatedly against his brown naugahyde couch.

"It's important, Pal," Roy explained hoping the younger man understood. "Hydrocodone is a narcotic and when you mix it with alcohol it slows down your breathing and heart rate even more," he continued.

"Ugh," Chet moaned. "I don'…give a damn."

A few feet away, Mike returned with a wet washcloth and kneeled down beside the aching paramedic. "Here you go, John."

Johnny looked up with watery red eyes and accepted the proffered cool cloth. He remained on his knees, grimacing when he changed positions, his jeans tightening in the stride sending aching sensations throughout the tender region. He then used the wet cloth to soothe his sweaty brow. "Shit…what happened?"

"Chet was serious about not letting us in. He jabbed you with the tip of his crutch as soon as you crossed the threshold," Mike responded.

"How'd he know…it was me? Lopez…had the keys." Johnny asked still panting slightly.

Mike patted Johnny's shoulder. "I don't think he meant it personally. I think he was just lashing out at whoever happened to be first. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Johnny leaned up a little further, propping his palms on his thighs as he sat lightly on his heels. "Yea," he blew out his cheeks. "You can say that again."

Both men diverted their attention as Chet once again raised his voice.

"It's m' damn life…so you jus'…jus' stay da hell outta… it!"

Mike saw Marco standing with his hands on his hips and decided to join him since the color seemed to be returning to Johnny's face.

"How's he doing?" Mike asked nodding in the direction of the sofa.

"Pissed off," Marco snorted. "He has no idea what a risk he's taken." He stood facing Mike and peering over the engineer's shoulder.

"How's HE doing?" Marco asked tilting his head in Johnny's direction.

"He'll live," Mike stated flatly. "But he probably won't be so eager to help Chet out any time soon."

Roy wiped the sweat from his upper lip with his shirt sleeve. Dealing with someone in Chet's frame of mind was beyond exhausting but it was made even worse by the fact that Chet was not only a coworker but also a friend. His heart ached as he watched Chet's body language.

He turned his upper torso around and saw Mike and Marco conversing. "Hey, will one of you go get my medical bag out of the trunk of my car?" He asked fishing his keys out of his front pants pocket. Mike held up his hands and caught the keys as Roy tossed them across the room. He then returned his open palm to Chet's upper abdomen.

"Get your damn…han's offa me!" Chet slurred through gritted teeth, reaching out and trying to shove Roy's hand away from him.

Roy pulled the Irishman's wrist and held it closely to the young man's side. Then, he reached over with his free hand and lightly slapped Chet on the face, just enough to get his attention and make him open his eyes.

"What? Ugh."

"Look at me!" Roy grunted in a coarse whisper. As soon as he saw Chet's eyelids flutter in his direction he began. "I don't know what in hell's going on with you but the four of us aren't going anywhere until we get to the bottom of it."

Chet licked his lips pulling in a deep breath but before he could respond, Roy continued.

"Now, if you don't start filling us in on the truth about what's going on here then we'll have no other choice but to do something that you do NOT want us to do." Roy hoped he wouldn't have to verbalize his threats but even more so, he hoped he wouldn't have to carry them out.

"Go…screw…yourself, DeSoto." Chet mumbled.

Marco's patience was growing thin. He stepped over to give Johnny a hand getting to a standing position. "You alright?"

"Aaahhh," Johnny groaned, wincing in pain. "Yea…I guess." He tried to lean back down to pick up the bucket handle but stopped before he reached it.

"Here, lemme help you, John."

"I'll clean it up," he croaked out. "If you'll just hand it to me."

Not wanting to embarrass his friend, he did as requested. He shook his head in anger as he watched Johnny slowly amble down the short hallway to the bathroom. He forced his frustration with his partner back down, reminding himself that this wasn't normal behavior for Chet. He then returned to the sofa to see if he could help out there.

Roy was fighting back the desire to grab Chet by the shirt collar and slam him onto the floor. "Have it your way, Pal. But here's what's going to happen. We're going to call a squad and an ambulance. You'll be admitted to Rampart for attempted suicide and then arrested for assaulting Johnny. Now, I don't need to tell you what that'll do to your career, do I?"

"I didn't try…to off m'self." His voice became softer as he continued to mumble. "Gage broke…into…my place. 'Sides, I don't have…a career… n'more."

Marco had reached his boiling point. Before Roy could respond, Marco did so himself. "You took a double dose of narcotics, downed it with whiskey, and assaulted a paramedic who came to rescue you and who was admitted into your home using your own key. That's what the evidence shows," Marco nearly shouted pointing his index finger in Chet's face even though the young man's eyes were closed.

"Kiss m'ass, Lopez."

Marco grabbed two handfuls of shirt collar and pulled Chet up slightly until his head fell back. "I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Let him go, Marco," Roy said, reaching over to pull Marco's fingers off Chet's shirt. "Chet? C'mon, man, stay with me here."

Marco was taken aback by his own rage at his partner's behavior. He looked down at his hands and saw Roy's fingers peeling his own away from Chet's shirt. Suddenly, he felt a forearm reaching across his chest and pulling him backwards and up to a standing position.

"C'mon, let's go get a pot of coffee started. I think we're gonna be here a while," Mike said, slipping the medical bag down near Roy's feet as he tugged on Marco.

"Thanks, Mike," Roy said, never removing his eyes from his patient's chest. He quickly took a set of vitals, writing them down in a small notebook similar to the one Johnny used on shift. He was a bit surprised that Chet's vitals weren't more depressed. "Chet?" He called out shaking the younger man slightly.

"Stop…lemme sleep, dam' 't."

"C'mon, Chet…you gotta stay with us," Roy reminded.

"No, jus'…go 'way…p'ease."

Roy opened his mouth to argue when Johnny's voice caught his attention. "How's his numbers?"

Roy looked over just as Johnny sat down gingerly in Chet's recliner. "Not great but not as low as I thought they'd be considering what he's ingested….how are you?"

"Ok…considerin' my left nut is lodged in my throat," he smirked with a hint of his trademark smile.

The two paramedics heard Chet's soft snoring filling his living room.

"Sure as hell ain't botherin' him any," Johnny grimaced.

"He's not himself, Johnny…you know that."

"Yea, well…" Johnny wanted to say more but he couldn't stop looking at Chet's pale face and slack jaw. "What's happened to him, Roy?"

"I don't know…but I think we should keep an eye on him while he sleeps it off. And then refuse to leave until we get to the bottom of it. He can't keep going like this much longer," Roy said looking back down at the sleeping man.

Johnny shook his head, returning his gaze to his lap. "Think we oughta call it in?"

Roy sighed, "right now I don't know what to do. His vitals aren't as depressed as I expected so…maybe we can just keep checking them every ten minutes or so and as long as they don't depress any further…let it just wear off." He looked over at his partner for confirmation.

"Yea," Johnny nodded. "Makes sense. We don't want to make things worse…I mean, as long as his life isn't in danger or anything."

Roy looked back down at the sleeping man. "But the minute he starts to slip…we get him to Rampart…right?"

"Absolutely…yea…absolutely," Johnny's voice faded as he leaned his head back against the head rest.

Mike stepped back into the living room. "Fellas, I'm going to make a breakfast run. Marco's agreed to cook." He looked down at Chet. "Figure he needs some nourishment too."

"Yea…we're going to need our strength or sure," Roy said then turned to his friend. "Think you can eat?"

Johnny looked from Chet to Roy and then back down to Chet. "Yea…I'll try…hey, Roy?"

"Yea."

Johnny paused as Mike walked between them and out the front door. "Do you think it's because he scored so low on the engineer's exam?" The puzzled look on Johnny's face amused Roy. Even though Chet had just caused him severe pain, he was still worried about him. No doubt his partner had a heart of gold and the ability to forgive that would rival that of a saint.

"I don't think so. I think it's something deeper than that…something," he hesitated, blue eyes staring into nothingness while he lightly rubbed his chin with his thumb. "Well, something he feels like he can't share with us." Roy felt like he was grasping at straws but what he'd seen lately from their younger lineman didn't seem at all connected to his reaction to the results of the engineer's exam from nearly a year ago.

Johnny's dark eyes seemed to grow distant as he drifted into his own thoughts. "Mmmm, yea…he's always been so open and…energetic. This," he spread his hand out in the direction of the sofa. "This isn't the Chet we know…and this one scares me."

"Scares me too, fellas." Marco said, leaning against the door frame leading into the kitchen. "Coffee's almost ready."

E!

Mike drove up to the supermarket nearest Chet's apartment complex and hurriedly walked inside. The place was relatively quiet and he was quickly able to locate the bacon, eggs and bread he had promised Marco. As he pushed his buggy past the dairy section he decided to get some milk and orange juice to round out the morning meal.

After checking out, he picked up the two brown paper bags and headed out to his pickup truck. Along the sidewalk, he passed by a pay phone and briefly thought about calling their captain. Realizing he'd have to unload his arms first, he went on to his truck and placed the bags in the passenger's seat. With anxious steps, he walked back over to the payphone booth and stepped inside, closing the glass doors behind him. He picked up the receiver, pinning it between his right shoulder and ear while he fished around for a dime in his front pocket. He managed to pull out a couple of nickels, slipped them in the slot with his thumb and listened for the dial tone. As soon as he heard the familiar sound, he slammed the receiver back down. _I can't…if he finds out what's going on then he'll come over and…_

Mike pulled back on the glass doors, scuffing his shoes along the sidewalk as he ambled back to his vehicle. He was a man who was always in control of himself and his situation; he always knew exactly what he was doing when it came to the engine and the pump panel. But right now…he had no idea what he was doing where Chet was involved. He slid into his seat, cranked it up and pulled out into traffic…hoping that perhaps the four of them could somehow manage to help their friend take back control of his life.

E!

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this story and especially those who have left reviews and/or PM'd me. I appreciate your support, encouragement, and correction of my errors. I sincerely appreciate you all. I hope to tie up all the loose ends in the next few chapters.


	13. Chapter 13

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 13

A hissing sound tickled his ears as an unseen force relinquished its grip on his upper arm. He struggled to open his eyes but his eyelids felt weighted down and his thought processes slowed. Gradually, he became aware of familiar voices conversing in the distance and the scents of breakfast smells wafting beneath his nose arousing the part of his brain that set his stomach churning. Gentle fingers gripped his wrist as his eyelids finally broke free and fluttered open.

"Have a nice nap?"

"Umph," Chet mumbled, rubbing his face with the palm of his free hand. He stretched open his eyes in an exaggerated manner pushing the drowsiness back from where it came. He then looked up at the man whose hand had moved from his wrist to his abdomen. "You…you're still here?"

"Yup," Johnny responded, part of him wanted to spout off a smart aleck response but the other part knew just how counterproductive that would be and so he tamped it down. "Think you can eat some breakfast? Marco cooked."

"I have him a plate right here," Mike responded, setting the plate of eggs, bacon and toast on the small breakfast table. "Marco's getting him a glass of water."

"Huh?" Chet remarked, trying to find leverage to pull up into a sitting position. "Lopez 's here too?"

"He's helping Roy with the dishes," Mike said in a monotone voice. "We ate while you were sleeping," he explained, seeing Chet glance at his watch. "How about some coffee?"

Chet watched Johnny stand with a slight grimace reminding him of the paramedic's rather violent welcome to Chet's apartment earlier. Once he finally sat up, placing his right foot on the floor, he realized just how much his head ached and felt the throbbing sensation return to his foot. Suddenly the memories of the previous night began to hurl themselves at his slowly waking brain while guilt and remorse battled for supremacy within his suffering soul.

"Ugh…I think something crawled inside my mouth and died," he said leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees for a moment. "My teeth are fuzzy…gotta brush 'em."

Mike offered the young man an outstretched arm but his proposal was swatted away.

Marco stepped through the doorway between the kitchen and living room holding Chet's glass of water. He stopped when he saw his partner trying to assume a standing position and rushed over to assist.

"He's all yours," Mike scoffed, backing away from the man who had refused his help earlier. He then watched as Marco's offer also fell on deaf ears.

Chet halted his partner with an icy glare then struggled alone down the short hallway to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, clicking the locking mechanism then dizzily grabbing hold of the square countertop to maintain his vertical stance.

Mike locked eyes with Johnny who was putting away Roy's stethoscope. "Well?"

Johnny merely shrugged his shoulders then zipped up the medical bag. "Vitals are stronger."

"That's a start, I guess." Marco added, a hint of frustration coloring his voice.

"I redressed his foot," Johnny reported. "Dr. Harrison left it open and applied a wet to dry saline dressing. There's some drainage but nothing unusual." He ran his hand down the back of his neck contemplating the young physician's reasoning for his choice of treatment.

"What kind of a quack doctor leaves a deep cut open like that?"

"An informed one, Marco."

Three sets of eyes simultaneously focused on Roy as he stood in the kitchen doorway drying his hands on a paper towel.

Roy looked beyond them down the hallway and decided that this might be his only chance to tell the rest of the group what he knew. "Look, I gotta make this quick."

Mike and Johnny each sat down but Marco remained standing, bouncing slightly with nervous energy.

"Alright listen, before Johnny and I got called out on that run, the one before the warehouse fire, Chet and I were alone in the kitchen cleaning up. He asked me to take a look at his foot but before I could, we got toned out." He glanced at his partner who was listening to him intently, head nodding his agreement as he remembered the events of the night before.

Then later at the hospital after…," Roy paused, momentarily dropping his head at the reminder of their lost brother. "When Chet came in to pick Johnny and me up, he said he had injured his foot when he was carrying Kyle Carrigan out of the building."

Suddenly, understanding appeared on Marco's face as the pieces of the puzzle began to slowly drift together in his mind.

"So anyway, I was in the exam room with him and when I helped him pull off his boot there was a lot of blood covering his sock and he was in quite a bit of pain. His boot was cut and his foot was bleeding but that was all."

"I'm not followin' ya, Roy," Johnny said with confusion in his voice.

Roy looked earnestly at his partner and then made eye contact with the other two men. "Fellas…his boot and his foot had gaping holes…but not his sock."

"What?" Johnny asked, arching both eyebrows skyward. "How can that be? I mean, if his boot…," Johnny relaxed his facial muscles as he stopped mid-sentence remembering the trauma his patient had suffered the previous night. "Uh…that wasn't his boot was it?"

"That doesn't make any sense, Roy."

"Yes…it does, Mike," Marco spoke up, arms crossing his chest but he didn't elaborate. He allowed Roy to continue with his story.

"When Carrigan and Jacobs went down in the explosion, they fell down a flight of stairs with a lot of debris. Right, Marco?"

"That's right," the lineman agreed.

"Carrigan's right boot was damaged resulting in an injury to his right foot so Chet must have switched boots with him to make it look like he had been injured on that run." Roy looked at the others knowing that he was making a damning accusation about one of their own. "Now, the county will give him paid time off because it looks like an on the job injury."

"Well, the gear that was in the squad is right over there by the door…let's have a look." Johnny walked over to the pile of turnouts and began sorting through it; his mind telling him his fears were founded while his heart hoped he was wrong.

"Think about it, fellas. He must've come to work hurt and didn't report it." Marco raised his right hand to his chin then upward to tweak his mustache as his dark eyes relaxed losing their focus on the others in the room as he thought back to the first run of the shift. "He told Cap that our feet got tangled up on that beauty parlor run…but that wasn't what happened. He lied." Marco blinked rapidly to refocus his eyes and looked up at his crewmates.

"You're right," Mike chimed in. "I saw him stumble on his own. Now, I guess we know why."

"No, we don't. We don't know why." Johnny stood up holding two right boots in his hands. One was slightly larger than the other. He peered inside looking for initials then turned them over to inspect for damage, grimacing at what he found. Angrily, he threw them back down into the pile of turnouts. "Why the hell would he do that? I mean, if he was hurt…why not just let Cap know and get a replacement? Why put others in harm's way AND risk being terminated from the department?"

"Probably because he doesn't have any paid leave left." Marco crossed in front of Mike, taking a seat on the sofa. "Think about how many times he's called in sick over the last six months or so."

"He's outta time," Johnny said, not realizing the double meaning of the phrase he'd uttered.

E!

Inside the bathroom, Chet finished brushing his teeth; grateful that the minty flavor of his toothpaste replaced the foul film that had coated his mouth and teeth while he slept. The sound of the running water triggered another urge and he leaned against the wall with his left shoulder as he stood in front of the toilet to relieve himself. With that task accomplished, he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, leaning over the small sink allowing his face to drip dry. After a few moments, he leaned onto his palms and took a long hard look at himself in the mirror. The image looking back at him was only a distant memory of the man he had once been. His unshaven jaws and chin framed his hollow features. The longer he stared at the image in the mirror, the more blurry and indistinct it became as his normally bright blue eyes dulled melting into watery pools. Now, not only did he not know who he was but he no longer even recognized his own face in the mirror. Finally, unable to look at his reflection any longer, he gripped the sides of the countertop and slowly leaned down on his forearms. His tears flowing freely down his scruffy cheeks. He wept for the lies he'd been told his entire life, cried for the disappointment he had become to his family and mourned for Kyle Carrigan whom he had failed to rescue. And he knew then that he had to make sure that his failed rescue attempt was the last failure the world would suffer at the hands of Firefighter Chester B. Kelly.

E!

"So you fellas think he's been calling in sick because he's hung over?" Johnny looked back and forth between Mike and Marco. He had already discussed it with Roy and knew how his partner felt.

"I never thought I'd say this but…yes, I do."

"I'm beginning to think so too, Marco," Mike agreed.

"Have you noticed anything else at work?" Johnny hated to ask the question, but he'd had more than one alcoholic relative in his family over the years and knew that when things got as bad as they appeared to be for Chet, then that person was likely imbibing on the job.

Before anyone could answer, a bumping sound reverberated from the bathroom. Mike and Roy rubbed shoulders as they rushed down the hallway, Marco and Johnny behind them.

Roy knocked on the door, calling out to the man inside. "Hey Chet…you alright?" When he got no answer, he grabbed the doorknob but felt his efforts stopped as he twisted it in both directions. He turned to the others hovering near him. "Locked."

Mike turned sideways reaching in over Roy's shoulder and knocked three times. "Chet, unlock the door, man. Let us in."

Roy listened closely for sounds inside the bathroom. "Quiet," he said holding up one hand and inching his ear closer to the door.

Inside, Chet had allowed himself to slump down with his back against the door, shoulders convulsing with silent sobs. He pulled his left knee up against his chest, leaning his head back against the door as the tears continued to streak down his cheeks. He inhaled a shuttering breath unable to maintain his silence while the pounding on the door continued. "Eh…eh…eh," he cried out, unable to hold back the sound of his misery.

"C'mon, Kelly…unlock the door or we'll take off the doorknob," Johnny said, his voice rising over the noise of his pounding.

Chet sniffed, drying his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Please…just leave me…alone…please?"

"Not gonna do that, buddy. I've got you some breakfast cooked and I know you've got antibiotics to take because I saw them on the counter. Now, unlock the door and let's get something in you, ok?"

Chet listened to Marco's voice pleading with him to unlock the door. He considered his situation and felt a strange sense of déjà vu at the similarities with his nightmares. At least Charles Kelly wasn't behind him squeezing the breath out of him while his husky voice spoke ridiculing remarks into Chet's ear. "Ohmygod," he whispered to himself weakly. He thought for a moment about Johnny's threat to remove the doorknob to get inside and decided that he might as well face them before his shiftmates damaged his door. He reached behind him, over his right shoulder and turned the locking mechanism.

From outside the door, Marco heard the faint clicking sound of the lock and gently pushed the door open; inching it forward as Chet scooted across his bathroom floor just enough to allow the door to be opened.

Marco saw his young friend sitting on the floor, his right leg stretched out in front of him nearly touching the far wall of his tiny bathroom. Marco could tell by the shuddering breathing pattern that Chet was crying uncontrollably; his curly mop of hair being held in a death grip with his left hand as he propped his left elbow along the edge of his tub; his right hand draped limply across his lap.

The three remaining men understood that right now, Chet needed Marco more than the others and they parted allowing the older lineman access to his trembling partner. His heart was breaking for his young friend and the obvious emotional pain he was in. He reached out a steady hand, gently placing it on the shoulder of the crying man and giving him a reassuring yet gentle squeeze.

Chet had felt that same familiar hand on his shoulder hundreds of times through the years. As always, it was offering him a respite…but this time that respite was from his own internal struggle rather than to switch places on the hose. The light squeeze he felt left him wanting to curl around his own midsection and shrink away from the hand that was keeping him grounded. He could feel Marco shifting behind him, assuming a kneeling position. Chet knew that meant Marco was going to remain with him for as long as it took to pull the younger man out of his self-imposed exile.

Marco eased down behind his weeping partner. He had no idea what words he could offer since he really didn't know the details that had brought Chet to this point in his life. So, he did the only thing he knew to do. With his left arm, he reached beneath Chet's arm and around his chest using this position to slowly pull his partner into his embrace. Eventually, he felt the younger man relax ever so slightly and begin to lean back using Marco as a support. His own heart was pounding in his chest as he felt the shuddering of the man he held in his brotherly embrace. "That's it…just relax and let it go. I've got you." He could hear the sniffling and the low moan Chet was trying unsuccessfully to cage deep within his chest. He rested his chin on the mat of curly dark hair and again felt Chet relax further into him. He could smell the mixture of smoke, dust and sweat from their previous shift but he didn't mind. Progress was being made and that's all he cared about as he continued holding his hurting partner.

M-Mar-Marco," Chet began with hiccupping sobs. "I-I'm so so-sorry, man." His voice was barely audible as he continued to gulp for air amid his sorrow.

Marco pursed his lips, not understanding Chet's apology. "Hey…there's nothing for you to apologize for."

Chet squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing out even more moisture. He didn't understand how Marco could be so kind to him. He didn't deserve such a good partner and he knew that Marco didn't deserve a partner like him. "F-for bein' such a d-disaster."

Marco pulled him even closer against his own chest. "You're not a disaster, buddy. You're the best partner I could have. You," he hesitated wondering if now was the time to confront Chet. "You've ah…been drinking a lot haven't you?"

Chet was glad a roll of toilet paper was within reach. He pulled it off the holder and wrapped it around his hand. He didn't try to pull away from Marco. The human contact felt warm and reassuring; he'd not been embraced or even touched beyond a handshake in a very long time. He didn't care that the person holding him was a man; at the moment, he needed to know that he wasn't alone in the world and right now, Marco was giving him exactly what his shattered heart needed most.

Marco recognized that his partner hadn't yet answered his question so he allowed the silence between them to build. He waited while Chet dried his eyes and blew his nose, never relinquishing his hold on the upset man. He listened and felt Chet struggle to inhale smoothly and he knew the younger man was trying to collect himself enough to formulate a response.

"I…uh, yea…I have but it's…um, I know what you're thinkin' and…I'm not, uh…I'm not a drunk. I'm not."

Marco closed his eyes as Chet's words hit him hard. "No, that's not what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that maybe you've been relying on the booze to help you sleep and now you just…you can't sleep without it." Marco wasn't even listening to his own words as he held his partner close but when Chet's inappropriate laughter erupted, he replayed his own words back in his mind.

"Ha…haha…what the hell…do you call a drunk then?" Chet asked with a strained giggle. "I know you're just tryin' to make me feel better but…I swear…I'm not some alcoholic. I," he sighed, unsure of how to continue. "Damn, man. I wish I was…at least I'd have a reason…to be such a screw up. And…it's…it's fixable. This," he gestured at himself and his surroundings with his hand. "This can't be fixed."

Marco listened to Chet's utterings still unsure of what to say or do. "You…you are NOT a screw up, Kelly. I know you better than anybody and you're…"

"Damn it, Marco!" Chet reached out with his right hand and began to pound on the door of the cabinet that was within his reach. "You don't know me," he growled. "You don't know who I am!" Chet gritted his teeth. "You can't," he said continuing to pound on the cabinet; the noise summoning the remainder of his crewmates back to his bathroom. "'Cause…I," he sniffled then continued, "I don't even know who…I… AM!" His fist slammed into the cabinet doorway in a cadence that matched his final few words.

Mike reached down pulling Chet's fist away from the battered cabinet, feeling the struggling man pulling away from him.

"Aarrugh!"

"Let's get him outta here," Mike whispered to Marco.

The two men lifted their shorter shiftmate and began backing him out of the doorway of his bathroom and back to his sofa. He no longer had the energy to resist their efforts.

"Watch his foot, guys." Johnny reminded the duo as they made their way down the hallway and placed Chet onto his sofa.

Chet's anger seemed to have abated for which the rest of the crew was grateful. They watched him curl up on his side resuming his tearful trembling. Marco was the first to address him.

"What do you mean you don't know who you are?" He waited for a response but was only rewarded with a negative headshake.

The tension in the room was smothering and Johnny decided to try to interject a little 'Chet humor.' "C'mon, Chet…we know who ya are. You're Chester B. Kelly…but ya never told us what the 'B' stands for. My guess is Bombs," Johnny said with his lopsided grin, even though it didn't light up his normally expressive face. "Yea…your folks knew that you were gonna make my life hell with water bombs and they were tryin' to warn me."

Mike picked up on Johnny's game and he piped up next. "Let me think…maybe the 'B' stands for Badge…you know, as a reminder for you to stop losing yours." He smiled as the other men snickered at his comment.

"No wait…I think it stands for…Belly dancer. You remember that girl that was sweet on you…I think her friends called her Red or something like that. We got called out because one of the other dancers had fainted. She really liked you, Kelly," Roy said flatly but with a smile. "What do you think, Marco?"

Marco decided to take a slightly different approach to the game Johnny had initiated. "I think the 'B' stands for Brother." He placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Because you're one of the best friends I could ever hope to have and you feel like a member of my family," he said, his own eyes growing misty.

"Ahem, so," Johnny, spoke up around the lump growing in his throat. "Why don't you tell us, Chet? What does the 'B' stand for?"

Without missing a beat, the curly haired lineman spoke up without facing his shiftmates. "Bastard."

A grimace was passed around the group as they looked down at their friend. Johnny had already assumed the spokesman position for the assembled men. "C'mon, Chet…be honest with us."

"You asked me…I told you…end of story," Chet groaned.

Marco was growing frustrated with the brick wall they were seemingly up against. "You're Chester B. Kelly…son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kelly." He waited but got no response. "So, tell us what they were thinking when they named their son?"

With sincerity in his voice, Chet spoke up again. "I guess they were thinking they liked the name George."

Confused faces looked at each other and then back down at Chet.

"Huh? We're not talkin' about George, man. We're talkin' about you. Tell us what 'B' name they liked for their older son," Johnny clarified.

Chet finally looked up glaring into Johnny's face. But the glare was short lived as his lips began to twitch while he struggled for internal control. "I know who you're talkin' about, Gage. But Charles Kelly only has one son…and it ain't me."

E!

A/N: I again want to thank everyone for their continued support, reviews and PM's. For those who leave me reviews as guests, I can't get back with you to personally thank you so I hope you will accept this as a token of my appreciation. The feedback of the readers helps me improve my craft and keeps my muse busy. Thank you!


	14. Chapter 14

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 14

"What are you talkin' about?"

Chet lifted tired red rimmed eyes at the dark haired paramedic. "You heard me, Gage."

"Yea, I heard ya…I heard ya," Johnny countered, face colored in confusion as he sat staring at the Irishman. "I just…how? I mean…"

Chet rolled his eyes then glanced around the room trying to read the minds of his other crew mates. He sat up finally allowing his eyes to settle back on Johnny who still sat with his mouth gaping. "Look, I don't think I have to explain it to ya."

"Are you sure?" Marco asked softly, watching the pained reaction on his friend's face as he cast his eyes downward.

"Yea, Marco. I did the math and it just doesn't add up."

"Wait, I think you better back up a little, Chet," Mike said holding up his hand. He and Roy pulled up chairs from the small dinette while Marco sat down on the sofa beside his partner.

Chet exhaled a cleansing breath; his chest felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. This was the conversation he had been avoiding for nearly a year but as he looked at the men surrounding him, he felt obligated to explain his behavior. Embarrassment began to warm his pale cheeks and he used his trembling hands to scrub his perspiring face. His mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton balls and his tongue felt sticky against the roof of his mouth when he tried to speak. "Can I…ahem, I mean…I really need something to drink," he leaned forward to stand up but felt a firm hand on his left shoulder.

"You also need to eat and take your antibiotics. Let's get some food in you first then we can talk." Marco got up, offering a hand to his friend. A sense of relief washed over him when he saw Chet reach out and grab his proffered hand. Perhaps the young man's earlier defensiveness was waning.

Mike pulled a chair out from the table and Chet gratefully accepted it. Mike watched as Chet drank half the glass of water before slowly pushing the food around on his plate. He then felt a bit encouraged when he saw Chet place a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth and slowly chew and swallow it.

Roy quietly stepped into the kitchen and prepared another glass of water for Chet. He then read the directions on the label of the antibiotic and tapped out the large pill before returning to the rest of the group. "Here you go," he said setting both items down beside Chet's plate.

"Thanks," Chet mumbled around a large bite of toast. Then, his countenance fell even further and he allowed his fork to drop with a plinking sound onto his plate. He stared at the remnants of his meal; his vision quickly blurring as his hallow word of gratitude echoed inside his mind. He sniffled a little, avoiding eye contact as he spoke. "Umm, I…I don't even know how to…to begin to apologize for…,"

"Nope, hold it right there," Johnny spoke up, knowing the others were thinking the same thing. "Look, just finish eating and take your medicine then everything will be fine."

"He's right," Roy began. "We'll finish the conversation afterwards."

"Anybody want any coffee?" Mike asked, feeling the need to stop the whirlpool of emotions swirling around and pulling them down.

"Yea," Johnny said.

"Me too," Marco chimed in.

"Roy?" Mike asked looking at the older paramedic who was watching Chet's every move.

"Sounds good…I'll help you." He patted Chet on the back as he walked behind him into the small kitchen.

E!

Hank looked at his watch and sighed. Time seemed to be standing still for him since his wife had left. She had already heard about the loss of Kyle Carrigan and had met him at the door with open arms when he returned home after shift. As he sat remembering how warm her embrace felt, he couldn't help but think how undeserving he was of such love and support. Across town, a young firefighter's body lay cold and lifeless in a morgue; a firefighter who had been under his command and had lost his life because of the assignment Hank had given him. And the partner of the deceased was fighting for his life in Rampart General Hospital's ICU. He rubbed his face, feeling the scruffiness of his unshaven jaws. "Humph, she never even complained about it," he said out loud. He knew his whiskers had scratched his wife's delicate skin but she never mentioned it. Then, he remembered holding her at arm's length, not wanting the intimacy of her touch. He didn't remember anything she had said but he certainly remembered the harshness of his words to her.

He looked at his watch again, calculating how long it had been since she'd looped her purse over her shoulder and rushed out the door wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. He had no idea where she had gone or when she might be back. "Damn it, Hank. You really messed it all up, didn't you?" He asked the question knowing there was no one there to answer him except his own guilty conscience. His mental chastisement continued for several long minutes when another thought entered his mind. He hadn't even called to check on his injured linemen. He got up and shuffled to the phone in the kitchen where he had all his men's phone numbers prominently displayed.

E!

Roy was walking out of the kitchen ahead of Mike, both men carrying two cups of steaming hot fresh coffee, when Chet's phone began to ring. He leaned over handing Marco a cup then turning his attention to Chet.

"Want me to get that for you?"

"Yea…if ya don't mind," Chet spoke softly, taking another bite of his eggs.

He reached for the black rotary dial phone hanging on the wall just as Mike passed Johnny a cup of coffee. "Kelly residence."

"Umm," Hank stumbled over his words as the unexpected voice answered the phone. "R-Roy?"

"Yea, Cap," he said locking eyes with Mike. "I'm, ah…I came over to change the dressing on Chet's foot. He's ah…he's eating breakfast right now." He watched as Chet looked up at him in puzzlement then returned his attention to his meal. "You want to speak with him?"

"Oh, ah…no, no I don't want to interrupt his breakfast. I just wanted to check on him."

"He's got to eat so he can take his meds but his wound looks good and clean. He'll be cleared for duty soon." Roy wasn't at all convinced that his friend was going to be able to return to work any time in the near future but at the moment, he didn't want to raise any suspicions from their captain.

"Ok, well…I guess just let him know I called to check on him and I hope to see him soon."

"Will do, Cap. Talk to you later," Roy said hanging up the phone. He smiled as Mike gave him an almost imperceptible nod of approval when he returned to his seat.

Chet had eaten his fill of breakfast and reached for the large white pill beside his second glass of water. "Damn, can't they make these any smaller?" He placed the pill on the back of his tongue then grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of water. He felt the large object as it moved slowly down the back of his throat and finally entered his stomach. He set the water back down dreading the upcoming conversation. "Why didn't ya tell him?" He asked, reaching for his coffee.

"Why didn't I tell him what?" Roy asked, confused.

"The truth, DeSoto. I know you guys already know. That's why you're all here so why didn't ya just go ahead and tell Cap too? Or does he already know?" He sipped his coffee while using his other hand to trace the lines of condensation down the length of his glass of water.

Roy struggled to keep his ire from rising at Chet's accusatory tone. "Because it isn't my place to tell him; it's yours. Besides, maybe you have a really good reason for doing what you did." Roy hoped the young man would take the bait he was dangling in front of his nose.

The silence in the room was deafening. Chet listened to the sounds of traffic on the street outside his home and remembered hearing those same sounds the previous night when he was sitting alone in the squad contemplating committing the act that had now brought nearly his entire shift over to his apartment. All he had wanted to do was have some paid time off to sort through the mess he had made of his life. And to get to the bottom of the mystery that had consumed him for nearly a year.

"Do you?"

"Huh? Do I what?" Chet asked; jolted from his reminiscing by Roy's flatly spoken question.

"Do you have a good reason for switching boots with Carrigan so it would look like you got hurt at the scene?"

Chet felt waves of heat undulating over him while heart palpitations pounded inside his lower throat. Sweat beads popped out along his temples and his thighs felt weak making him appreciate his seated position, unsure whether his limp legs could keep him upright otherwise. His respirations increased as he thought of how to answer that question. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he decided that he had been lying long enough. "Because….'cause I didn't have any more sick time I could take off and…I, uh…I stepped on a piece of glass yesterday mornin'. I cleaned and bandaged it but I didn't know there was a piece still in it. I mean…it hurt like a bitch all day so I just kept taking aspirin and all but….after I carried him out…I just couldn't take it anymore and…well, you know the rest." He ran a hand through his mussed up curly hair waiting for the shouting to begin and knowing he deserved every word.

"Well, that explains all the blood on your sock," Roy stated.

"Yea…bled like a stuck pig all day."

"Listen, Kelly…aspirin is a blood thinner so the more aspirin you took the less clotting you had," Roy explained; he could see dark hair moving out of the corner of his eye as Johnny nodded his agreement.

"Humph…oh," Chet muttered. He knew the others were waiting on him to continue but he was struggling to find his words.

Mike finally spoke up breaking the uncomfortable silence and responding on behalf of the group. "We're not here to judge you, Chet. You'll have to decide what to do about your foot injury. We're worried about you. What happened yesterday was just the latest. You haven't been yourself for a long, long time and we just want to help."

"He's right," Marco confirmed.

Chet propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "I wish ya could, fellas. But…but no one can help me. I mean…my life is just so messed up that…well…," he nodded negatively as the lump in his throat prevented him from completing his sentence.

Marco stood up and placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of his hurting friend. He felt the younger man trembling beneath his touch and his heart began to ache for whatever circumstance was causing this unusual behavior. "Chet…you started saying something a few minutes ago about your Dad."

Chet pulled the paper napkin from his lap and wiped his face with it. He no longer tried to portray the macho firefighter; he knew in his heart it was all just an act anyway. He felt weak and vulnerable; last night's failed rescue had confirmed it all. He crumpled up the napkin and dropped it unceremoniously onto his plate then rested his head against his steepled hands. "Yea," he uttered in a shaky voice. "He's…Charles Kelly isn't my father…he can't be."

"Ok, we got that before but Chet what makes you say that?"

Chet concluded that Johnny's voice had never been more irritating to his ears. He used his palms to rub his face rapidly until he felt it tingle. He blew out his cheeks knowing he was stalling and then without looking up at the four sets of eyes staring at him, he began his sordid tale. "Ok…look, ahem…back almost a year ago, I went home to visit my folks and…," he hesitated realizing he had used the term of endearment in reference to not only his mother but the man who had reared him. "My…ah…well, Charles," he corrected, "was sortin' through a box of letters, pictures, that kinda thing from his time in the war. It was all spread out on the kitchen table and, ah," he stuttered, running a hand back through his hair and slinking down in his chair. "He and…um, well…my Mom…they…well, they were talkin' and seemed to be enjoyin' themselves, ya know?" He looked around realizing that he had their full attention and suddenly felt the heat around his collar return. "We all sat there lookin' through all that stuff and he asked me about the results of the engineer's exam."

"Uh-oh," Marco whispered a little too loudly.

"Exactly," Chet exclaimed feeling his spine become gelatinous.

"He wasn't too happy with your results, huh?"

"Boy, you can say that again, Johnny." Chet looked back down at the crumpled white napkin with a few smudges on it and thought about the yellowed paper work he had read after Charles had become angry and stormed out of the room followed closely by his wife who was angrily chastising him.

Chet cleared his throat and continued as his memories transported him back in time.

~.~.~.~.~.

"Seventy-fourth?"

"Well, the scores are good for a year so I can still get promoted…maybe," Chet struggled to defend himself; his voice seeming to return to its prepubescent squeak as he cowered beneath his father's stern voice.

"Charles, he did the best he could…why isn't that good enough for you?"

Chet listened to the conversation between his parents and wished he could somehow shrink into nothingness.

"Well it isn't good enough, Charlene! He chose this line of work so the least he can do is make sure he can make a decent living at it!"

Chet gulped, wanting to stand up to his father and explain that what he was doing was important; to tell him that saving lives and property was hard work and that the rewards of personal satisfaction for seeing families reunited and priceless heirlooms spared made up for the low pay. "Dad," he began standing up and facing the hulking older man. "It's my life! I've never asked you for one red cent. I'm proud of what I do and damn it, I'm good at it too so,"

"Then why the hell can't you move up, Chester Blain Kelly? Your brother is three years younger than you are and he makes twice the money you make! How can you ever support a family on what you make, huh?"

"Charles, that's enough!" Charlene Kelly stood, index finger pointing across the table at her husband. "Chet risks his life for others…and my heart swells with pride every time I think about it." Her blue eyes glared across the table burning holes into the older Kelly man's heart. She shifted her gaze to the downcast face of her oldest child. "Chet…honey, we love you and…"

"Don't speak for him, Mom. I know how he feels. He's always been harder on me than on George." Chet stood firmly rooted between his parents determined not to be the one who walked out. He saw his father's feet shuffle back towards the back of the house and heard the stairs creaking beneath the older man's weight as he ascended them.

"Chet…it isn't you, sweetheart," Madge said softly, dabbing the corners of her eyes with her fingers.

"Never is, is it?" Chet looked up at his mother's face and saw the pain and anguish the heated discussion had caused.

"Please…sit down. I…I need to explain something to you."

He raked his hands through his hair then pulled out a chair. He knew what was coming; he'd heard the explanation hundreds of times but it always seemed to make her feel better so he decided to sit through it again. "I know, Mom. It was the war. He saw things he can't talk about. He still has nightmares. He lost a lot of friends. Blah, blah, blah. I get it. I really do," he said; his voice softening as he realized he was interrupting her. "I joined up too, remember?"

She placed her soft hand on his arm hoping her touch would settle him down. It seemed to work with Charles when he became upset and she hoped it would work with Chet too. "Son, do you know why he has all this stuff out looking at it today?"

Chet looked at the box full of mementos and silently shook his head. Truthfully, he never knew the box even existed. Black and white photographs of his father as a thin young man in his dress uniform looked up at him and he wondered what horrors those green eyes had seen. Chet had not had to serve a tour in a war zone but his eyes had seen plenty of death and devastation during his career as a firefighter.

"He gets this box out every December 17th because that's the day he lost so many of his friends…and in a way, it's the day he lost a very large part of himself." She looked at her son and saw him continue to tremble with anger at his father's reaction and decided she needed to let him figure it all out on his own instead of listening to her relate the story. "I'll leave you alone for a while and let you look through these things. I think you'll understand a little better then. Just, ah…don't mention it to anyone, not even your father, ok? He's a very private man and…he wouldn't want it to ever be discussed." Madge stood up, raking her fingers across the strong shoulders of her elder son allowing them to linger and squeeze the back of his neck briefly before she went upstairs to talk to her husband and try to help him settle down after the confrontation.

Chet looked back down at the pictures of numerous soldiers and quickly recognized his father in each one. Slowly, one by one, he removed each picture reading the names on the back of each one then carefully setting them aside. He reached inside again and removed several envelopes. He found his father's enlistment papers and documents indicating when and where he had been sent for basic training. He reached inside the box again when something about the dates captured his attention. "Oh no!"

His stomach drew up in knots as he did the mental calculations. His parents had eloped two weeks before his father had to report for basic training. He spent the next three months at Fort Dix, New Jersey in basic training and was given only a three day furlough before being shipped overseas.

~.~.~.~

"Don't ya get it fellas?" Chet asked looking around the room.

"Ah, no...no, I don't."

"Shit, Gage," he slapped his hands down on the table. "I thought you were a freakin' paramedic!"

"Yea well, I never quite mastered the paramedic skill of mind reading," Johnny retorted sarcastically. "Just spit it out, for cryin' out loud!"

Chet huffed, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. "Alright look, I was born on November 22, 1944. Now back that up nine and half months or so and you get what…like, mid-February?"

"That would be about right," Marco interjected.

"Well, they married on November 4, 1943. He left for basic training on November 12th," Chet tapped his right index finger against the fingers of his left hand as if he were numbering the events that proved his paternity. "He finished up on February 10, 1944 but he only had a three day furlough before shipping out overseas." He tapped his ring finger as he continued. "Now, there's no way he made it from the east coast to the west coast and back in seventy-two hours when the only affordable way they could travel was by train or bus. They didn't have a car and they couldn't just hop a flight like we can today," he said, voice rising along with his frustration level from having to relay his story.

"So," Roy wasn't sure how to say what they were all thinking. "Um, are you saying that…you think your mom may have…uh, stepped out on him while he was in basic training?"

Chet looked directly at his friend. "God I hope so, Roy. I know that sounds like I'm callin' my mother a whore but…the only other scenario I can think of is…a helluva lot worse."

"No, Chet," Mike interrupted, holding his hand up. "Now don't think like that."

Johnny's eyebrows shot upwards pinning themselves to his forehead. "Don't think like what?"

"Like…she didn't…choose to…ya know," his staccato voice cracked.

"Oh," Johnny gulped as he realized that Chet was referring to a horrific criminal act that may have resulted in his conception.

"Think about it, fellas. I mean, even today it usually isn't reported and it's 1975! Thirty years ago, she might've been too afraid or….too ashamed to report it so…," he sniffled, unable to control the raging current of emotions consuming him at the moment.

Marco was the first to stand. He stepped over to his weeping friend who seemed to be intent on curling himself into the tiniest ball of human flesh that he could as he wrapped his arms around his own midsection. Marco sat in the chair beside Chet and reached out his arms pulling the crying man into a brotherly embrace. He felt Chet's convulsive hiccups as he once again leaned into the older man's shoulder for the second time in a little over four hours. But this time, Mike joined him followed by Roy and Johnny as they circled around their distraught shift mate. All earlier hostilities melted away dissolving in the tears their brother was shedding and for several long moments, time stood still for the four members of A-shift from Station 51. Nothing else mattered except the rescue of the man they all now held onto as he tried to cope with the nightmare possibilities of his own paternity.

E!

A/N: The date of December 17, 1944 is a reference to the Malmedy Massacre where American POW's were murdered by German troops.

I want to extend my utmost gratitude for the continued encouragement your reviews and PM's have provided me. I appreciate your time and support more than I can ever express using only words.


	15. Chapter 15

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 15

"Chet, it sounds like you're making some assumptions here. Don't think the worst until you ask the questions."

Chet looked up at Roy and felt his ears begin to burn. "Well exactly how would you recommend I go about broaching the subject, huh?"

Marco frowned as he listened to the harshness in Chet's response. "Why not talk to your Dad about what you know; then just ask him what happened?"

Chet shook his head swiftly from side to side. "No way, nuh-uh…not him. I'd…," he gulped at the thought of carrying out what he was about to say. "I'd rather ask Mom. But…what if she won't tell me or…or what if it's too…painful for her…damn, why can't things just work out for me, just once in my life," he groaned.

"I know life seems really shitty right now, Kelly but…well, ya talked to us 'bout it and…and we didn't blow you out or anything." Johnny feared that he might have just made his friend angry but he also wanted him to understand that he really needed to find out the truth before he accepted his assumptions as reality.

"John's right. You can't work for a few shifts anyway so…why not make a trip back to see your folks and get the answers you need?" Mike looked to the others for support and he wasn't disappointed as one by one the others agreed.

"Exactly," Roy said.

"I've got some vacation time I can take if you'd like some company…moral support, you know?" Marco offered.

Chet ran his thumb and index finger from the inside corners of his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose. Never had he imagined that his friends cared about him so much. If he'd only known, perhaps he wouldn't be in the situation he was in now. If he'd just gone to Marco or any of the guys maybe he wouldn't have lied about his foot injury and maybe, just maybe, his career wouldn't be in jeopardy. Now, he stood to lose everything including the family he thought he knew. A dark shadow settled around his face as he spoke. "No. I appreciate it, Marco, I really do but…this is something I have to do on my own."

Marco nodded, squeezing his partner on the back of his neck before standing and returning to the sofa. One by one, the others followed him until Chet was once again sitting alone at his table. "Guys…I'm sorry about being a complete jackass for the last few months." He looked up locking eyes with his favorite pigeon. "And, Johnny I'm really sorry about your, uh…," he allowed his eyes to quickly drop to Johnny's waist and then return to the paramedic's face.

Johnny slowly let his trademark grin break out followed by a hint of a chuckle. "Oh…I'll get ya back…when ya least expect it, Chester B.…I'll get ya back."

Johnny's smile was contagious and soon it had spread to the other men in the small apartment.

Chet felt a strange warmth spreading within his chest. He didn't know whether it was his shattered heart beginning to heal or if he was just enjoying the camaraderie he had been missing for so many months. Whatever it was, he felt a bit rejuvenated. "Ah, listen fellas…I can't ever repay you for coming over here and seein' about me but…I know you got other things to do today besides babysit a grown man."

"I don't," Mike snickered.

"Yea, are ya kickin' us out?" Johnny asked.

"No…but I do have a lot to think about and…I promise to be more careful about taking my medications and…," he stalled as he struggled to stand up, finding Roy quickly at his side. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome," Roy said steading the shorter man.

"Whatever it is you need, I'll get it for you, amigo." Marco stood, ready for whatever task Chet needed him to complete.

Chet tapped his fingers lightly on the table, contemplating his next move. "Um, will you get my whiskey from the cabinet above my refrigerator?"

"Uh…anything but that," Marco retorted, seeing the disturbed looks on the faces of his shift mates.

"No…I want you to take it home with you. That way, you fellas will know I won't…you know, do anything stupid."

Marco nodded then silently walked into the kitchen to complete Chet's request. Roy stepped closer to Chet but before he could say anything, Chet gave a voice to Roy's thoughts.

"Roy…I know," he held up his hand. "Just leave me a couple of those pills for later and then…you can take the rest."

"I'll bring them back with me in the morning when I come over to change your dressing," Roy offered.

Chet's response was a slight nod as Roy passed behind him.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything."

Chet lowered himself back down in the chair. "I will, Mike. I promise and thanks again."

"Don't mention it…you'd do the same for me."

Chet allowed a smile to show on his face. "Oh, you bet."

Johnny extended his right hand giving Chet a firm handshake. "Same goes for me too."

Chet returned the paramedic's gesture by accepting his outstretched hand. "Yea well, I don't know if I'd do it for you, Gage," he snickered; both men fully aware of the fallacy of the statement.

Johnny pointed his finger at Chet as he turned to leave. "Hey, I meant what I said, Kelly. When you least expect it."

One by one, the friends left the apartment; each one feeling better about Chet than they had felt when they found him. Half an hour later, Chet closed the door and returned to his recliner. He took a cleansing breath as he leaned back elevating his aching foot. He had several decisions to make over the coming days; he just hoped he was strong enough to do what he knew had to be done.

E!

Across town, Hank stepped out of the shower and dressed in khaki pants and a white button down shirt. He rolled the sleeves up mid-way on his forearms then sat on the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. He was determined to go over to the Carrigan house and offer his condolences to Kyle's family. He stood up too quickly from tying his shoes and staggered momentarily as the room clouded over and then brightened again a few seconds later. He knew he needed sleep and probably food too but right now, he couldn't do either. His stomach felt like he'd eaten a bowl full of burning embers for breakfast and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Kyle Carrigan being carried out of the building by Hank's own lineman. So, he decided to stay awake and do what had to be done. He knew in his heart that he was the last person the Carrigan family wanted to see; especially the young man's parents and fiancée but he couldn't avoid it. He needed to let them know how awful he felt and how sorry he was for their loss – the department's loss. Then he planned to go to Rampart and see how Jacobs was doing.

He locked the door behind him then walked over to his car. Opening the door, he heard the familiar sound of his wife's edsel turning into their driveway. His heart leaped from his chest and danced inside his throat. He knew he owed her a huge apology so he waited for her to get out of her car but was surprised by her reaction to him.

"Honey, I'm really sorry about…"

She rushed to his side and buried her head in his shoulder. "Hank…forgive me for running out on you. I should've never…," she interrupted him but then was cut off by his lips quickly finding hers. She allowed the brief heartfelt apologetic kiss to quiet her own words of regret. When he pulled back, she saw the anguish in his hazel eyes. "Please wait just a few minutes…I want to go with you." She didn't have to ask where they were going; she already knew and couldn't let him go alone.

He lowered his head and nodded while allowing his hands to move slowly from her shoulders to her hands then grasp her fingers within his own calloused digits. The lump in his throat prevented his words from escaping. After all he'd said to her when he'd first gotten home from shift, she still wanted to go with him; it was almost more than he could comprehend. He didn't deserve her, never had, but he sure did love her.

"Let me touch up my make-up and put on a dress. I won't be but a minute," she said letting go of his finger tips and hurrying inside their home.

Hank leaned against his car and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He rarely smoked figuring he got enough of the stuff in his lungs when he was on shift but when he was under extreme duress he always fell back on the habit. This was one of those times. With each drag, he felt the burn in his throat and lungs and within a few moments felt the calming effects of the nicotine flooding his system. By the time he had finished it and stamped it out, he heard the front door close. He walked around to the passenger's side of the car and opened the door for her. "You don't have to do this, you know." He wanted to give her a way out.

"I know. But we're a team and we do things together. Whatever affects you affects me and I want to be there with you."

He watched as she pulled her slim legs inside the door and then carefully closed it. He pulled out his keys as he walked in front of the sedan then got in on the driver's side. The drive to the Carrigan home was made in silence; neither one knowing what to say to the other.

When Hank made the turn onto Thomas Avenue, he was amazed at the number of cars parked along the street. Some of the vehicles he recognized as belonging to the top brass in the department and he suddenly felt as inferior as a boot. Along the street, two houses down he saw break lights come on and waited for the other driver to pull out so that he could park in the resulting vacant spot. He shifted into park and exhaled audibly.

Emily reached out and grasped her husband's trembling hand. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hank could only nod negatively. "No, I don't want to…but I have to." _I'm the reason he's dead, _Hank thought to himself, but that was a thought he couldn't tell anyone, not even his precious wife.

An hour later, the two returned to their car; this time Rebecca got behind the wheel. She cranked it and pulled out into the narrow street before she reached over and held his hand. She cringed when he initially pulled back from her touch. "Don't beat yourself up over this, Hank. You didn't cause that backdraft."

He flared his nostrils willing the aching in his chest to cease. He wasn't sure what he had expected at the Carrigan home but whatever it was, it wasn't what he got. No one there was blaming him for anything that happened. He was welcomed, embraced and thanked for his support and caring. He felt overwhelmed by the underserved affection. "Let's just go to Rampart, ok?" His voice was merely a whisper. He was relieved when she turned on the blinker to make the left turn that would take them to their next destination. He just hoped he could find the strength to make it across the parking lot and up the elevator to the ICU. Once he got there, then he'd have to face the other half of the paramedic team he felt he had destroyed.

E!

Chet spit the remnants of his toothpaste into the bathroom sink then rinsed his mouth and face. As he was patting his face dry he heard his telephone ringing and cast a glance at his watch. "Nine-thirty…right on time," he mumbled as he hobbled down the short hallway.

He picked up the black receiver on the third ring. "Hey, Gage."

"Uh…how'd you know it was me?"

Chet allowed himself to smile slightly. "Because, Roy called two hours ago to remind me he was coming over tomorrow to change my bandages. Two hours before that it was Mike calling to see I wanted him to relay any messages to Cap and about two hours before that, which would've been, oh..say…about two hours after you guys left here…it was Marco calling to see if I needed him to bring me anything from the grocery store," he said with a hint of an appreciative chuckle.

Johnny could sense the smile emanating from the other end of the telephone. "Oh…guess we're bein' kinda obvious, huh?"

"Just a little," Chet agreed. "But…I appreciate it, John. In all seriousness…which is pretty rare for me…I appreciate it."

"You, ah..you sound better."

Chet reached behind him and pulled out a chair from his small dinette set and took a seat. "I am. I'm just gettin' ready for bed and I," he hesitated. "I think I'm gonna sleep better than I have in a long time."

"Well that's good to hear, good to hear. Listen, you'll call me if you need anything right?"

"Yea, Johnny. I will. You have a good night and I'll, uh, I'll catch ya later," Chet said, his voice softening.

"Sounds good. You have a good night. 'Bye," Johnny said, hanging up the phone.

Chet sat still until he'd heard the clicking sound of his friend hanging up. He hadn't lied to Johnny, not really. He knew he was going to sleep better than he had in a long time because he'd finally made up his mind about his future. He pulled out a drawer beside his stove and retrieved a plain piece of notebook paper. He scrounged around inside the drawer until he found a blue ink pen then sat down at the table trying to collect his thoughts. He wrote the date at the top of the paper then stopped. "Do I address it to Cap or to Chief Houts?"

E!

Mike made the turn into the back parking lot of Station 51 twenty minutes early. He stopped in his usual spot beside Hank's black sedan. He walked into the bay as 'C' shift's engineer stepped out of the kitchen holding a cup of coffee.

"Morning, Mike."

"Morning, Pete. Quiet shift?"

The other engineer looked at his watch then smiled. "Ask me that in about twenty minutes or so," he grinned. His face quickly fell into a more subdued manner. "You gonna go to the funeral?"

Mike pressed his lips together. The funeral of a brother in the department was always difficult. "Yea," he nodded. It isn't until eleven tomorrow so 'B' should be on unless we get a bad run right at shift change." He watched as the other man nodded his understanding. "Have you seen Hank?"

Pete threw his blond head in a nod aimed at the captain's office. "He's in there with Cap. He, uh…he looks like hell."

Mike felt his gut tighten. "Probably hasn't slept much since last shift."

Pete took a sip of his coffee. "Mmmm hmm. Hey, how's Kelly doing?"

"He's alright. He'll miss a few shifts until his foot is healed but he'll be back in a couple of weeks." Mike allowed a brief thought to float to his injured comrade but then it quickly returned to his own captain. "Anything I need to know?" He asked referencing the engine and the previous shift.

"Nah…nothing unusual. We hadta pull a van out of a canyon. The driver was a bit intoxicated so of course he wasn't hurt. Then there was a false alarm at a nursing home. Damn I hate those."

"Get hit on by some of the old ladies?" Mike asked, winking his azure gaze at the older engineer as he remembered one of those he had gone on earlier in his career.

"Yea…they just love a man in uniform," Pete said doing his best grandmotherly impression with his voice and pretending to walk with an imaginary cane.

Mike chuckled at his counterpart. "Ok, well, I'll go change and then maybe I'll talk to Cap," he said turning toward the locker room carrying his uniforms and duffle bag over his shoulder. "Give me about 5 minutes before you go, will ya?" He shouted across the bay not waiting for an acknowledgement as he pushed open the locker room door and walked over to his locker to begin preparations for his shift.

E!

Chet folded up the letter placing it in a plain white envelope and tucking it into his shirt pocket. He looked at himself in the mirror thinking he looked very different, older maybe. It had been three days since he had cut his foot and it was healing nicely; at least he could walk by placing his weight on the outside of it and limp. Roy and Johnny had helped him the last couple of days with the bandages and finally today he was able to really get clean with a long shower. That had made him feel much better. Well, that and the fact that he had taken his future into his own hands. Now, he stood in front of his mirror wearing only his boxers and unbuttoned denim shirt. He slipped his gold chain around his neck then buttoned up the shirt before tucking it into his levi's and fastening his belt with the wide buckle. He pulled on his socks being careful not to loosen the bandage on his right foot then laced up his camel colored chukka boots. One final look in the mirror and then he picked up his keys and headed out the door, double checking the lock before he left.

Chet never saw the young woman with light brown hair peeking out from her window across the walkway from his apartment. She was completing her morning stretches and strength training; a routine that was slowly but surely giving her back some normalcy. She had only moved in a couple of months previously but it hadn't taken her long to realize that the young man's face was familiar and there was only one possibility as to why. Her suspicions were confirmed a couple of days ago when she had seen the four men leaving his apartment. Seeing the man with the auburn hair had helped her put the pieces together forming a mental picture she would remember for the rest of her life.

She noticed the limp in his strides and wondered if perhaps something had happened to him since the last time she had seen him. It had been several long painful months since that day and she couldn't believe her good fortune when she'd moved into the ground floor apartment and just happened to catch a glimpse of him walking across the lawn during one of her morning routines. Only a couple of days ago had she actually been able to verify her suspicions but after a few phone calls made while holding her fingers crossed, she had been able to confirm his identity. The kind elderly lady manning the telephones at the Los Angeles County Fire Department Headquarters had given her the address of the station. And today was the day she was finally going to make proper introductions…and deliver the freshly baked pound cake that sat cooling in her kitchen.

E!

Chet pulled his van into his usual parking spot behind the station and sat motionless behind the wheel. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest so hard that he was sure the letter he'd stuffed in his shirt pocket was twitching. He blew out his cheeks trying to force his tense muscles to relax. He was doing what had to be done but that didn't make it any easier. He glanced to his left and saw Marco's car parked beside him and just to his right was a white land rover. He ran his fingers through his curly hair leaving a few tufts standing up near the crown of his head. Finally, he knew he had stalled long enough and he reached for the door handle.

Hank was reviewing his notes for roll call while sitting at his desk. The small typed words kept growing blurry and he'd have to rub his eyes in order to see clearly again. He leaned back in his chair and felt the sharp pain from the bruise on the back of his upper arm. He'd managed to keep Emily from seeing it and for that he was grateful. At least he knew she wouldn't see it for another twenty-four hours while he was on shift. He glanced down at his watch, blinking rapidly in order to see the hands on the dial. Noting that it was five minutes until roll call, he decided he needed another cup of coffee. It would give him a chance to remind his crew to prepare for roll call as well. But, before he could stand up, there was a swift knock on the door.

His bushy eyebrows knitted together. "Come in."

Chet twisted the door knob and saw the look of confusion on his captain's face. "Uh, hey Cap. I…I uh, need to talk to ya for just a minute…please." The young man was obviously nervous.

"Oh sure…take a seat." He gestured to the chair beside his desk. "So, how's the foot?"

Chet felt his hands begin to tremble and to keep Hank from noticing he withdrew the envelope from his pocket. "Oh…much better…thanks," he said softly, his mouth forming only a half-hearted grin as he looked down at the envelope in his hands.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Kelly. So, what brings you here today? I know that isn't your medical release already."

The lineman's mouth formed a flat line. "Ah, no…no sir. I…I needed to give you this." He held the white envelope a moment longer then passed it to his captain.

Hank saw his name in blue ink on the front of the envelope. He stared at the hand written letters.

CAPTAIN HENRY STANLEY

Rarely did anyone use his formal name so he knew this was something very serious. "Chet…is something wrong?"

"Ah…no sir…not anymore," his voice lowered as he stood up. "Everything's alright now," he reached out his right hand.

Hank was taken aback by the behavior he was seeing. He dropped the envelope on his desk and quickly stood up to match his lineman's gesture when the room suddenly began to grow darker. He seemed to be staring at Chet down a long tunnel and faltered in his attempt to shake the young man's hand. Then, he felt himself floating as the tunnel vision closed in around him. Just as his world faded to black, he could hear Chet's voice calling to him from a distance.

"Cap? CAP? Ohmygod!" Chet groaned loudly, his sore foot completely forgotten as he stumbled behind the taller man reaching underneath his arms bracing him as he slowly lowered him to the floor. "CAP, can ya hear me?" When he got no response, his cries for help became shouts. "HELP! HEY FELLAS…CAP'S DOWN!"


	16. Chapter 16

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 16

Johnny reached over his head pulling down two coffee cups from the cabinet and setting them on the counter top beside the stove. "Black, right Mike?"

"Yes…thanks, Johnny." Mike shifted in his seat so as to face the paramedic he was answering when a muffled shout caught his attention.

The bumping sound that followed the shout for help caused Roy to jerk his head up from reading the morning paper. "What the…?" Roy began, when suddenly Johnny's expletive seemed to finish his thought.

"Shit!" Johnny danced around the coffee the noise had caused him to spill on the counter top and floor.

"Was that Chet?" Marco's dark eyes widened in disbelief as he shoved his chair away from the table and stood up.

The group of four firefighters jumped into action without a single word spoken amongst the group; the commotion leaving Larry, Chet's replacement, dumbfounded by how each man seemed to know exactly what to do as if this were an everyday occurrence.

Johnny swiftly set the coffee pot down in the sink then rushed on the heels of his partner through the kitchen door. Marco ran to the far side of the squad pulling open the compartment doors and removing the orange biophone, drug box and oxygen tank.

Mike turned quickly to the right as he exited the kitchen behind Marco and reached for the microphone. "LA, Station 51. We have a still alarm. Code I – repeat, a still alarm. Code I. Respond an ambulance to our quarters. Station status - unavailable."

"10-4, Station 51." Sam Lanier spun around in his chair, quickly dispatching a Mayfair ambulance to Station 51.

Roy rushed into the captain's office stunned to see Chet's panic-stricken face, his back against the filing cabinet. The lineman's arms were looped around Hank's chest, grasping the taller man's forearms and supporting him as they both slowly slid to the floor; Hank's head slumped down and his chin nearly touching his chest.

"Help me! He…he just stood up and fainted or somethin'!" Chet's blue eyes were like saucers and his face was pale, mustache twitching in a tight grimace.

Johnny and Roy flanked their captain, carefully pulling him out of Chet's arms and laying him on the floor. Roy instinctively reached for Hank's wrist and neck to check for a pulse as Johnny laid a hand on his abdomen to count his respirations. The dark haired paramedic then clicked his pen light and used his thumb to gingerly peel back his captain's eyelids to check his pupillary response. Finding both pupils reacting normally to light, he returned his pen to his shirt pocket then proceeded with a sternal rub to try to elicit some type of response from the unconscious man.

"Here you go," Marco huffed, setting the biophone down next to Johnny and standing up the oxygen cylinder next to Hank's ashen face.

"Put that mask on him at eight liters," Roy instructed Marco as he accepted the drug box. He removed the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff seeing Marco pulling the tubing and mask from the olive green canister and placing them strategically on the unconscious man. Roy quickly wrapped the cuff around Hank's upper arm then placed the bell of the stethoscope in the crook of the limp arm held in his grasp. He pumped the bulb just as Johnny made contact with Rampart.

"Rampart this is squad 51. How do you read?"

Roy released the pressure pulling the stethoscope from his ears and allowing it to dangle around his neck.

"Loud and clear 51," replied Dixie McCall's smoky voice.

"146/86, pulse 88." Roy looked at his partner knowing Johnny had checked Hank's respirations.

"Rampart, we have a male victim, code I, approximately 38 years old, victim of a syncopal episode. He is unconscious with no response to pain. BP is 146/86, pulse 88, respirations 16. Skin is warm and flushed. We have him on eight liters of O2 now," Johnny reported in his most professional voice although he was fighting to keep the fear out of it.

"51, does the patient have any history of cardiac problems or hypertension?"

The sound of Dr. Brackett's deep voice asking the dreaded questions caused both paramedics to look up into Mike's anxious face. Mike worriedly shrugged his shoulders.

"Uh, Rampart, be advised the victim is Cap'n Stanley. We are unaware of any cardiac issues."

"10-4, 51. Start an IV D5W and send me an EKG strip," Dr. Brackett ordered.

"10-4…IV D5W and preparing to send you a strip," Johnny repeated.

"I'll get it," Marco said turning and rushing past Chet's replacement standing in the doorway, mouth agape.

Mike reached down assisting Chet up from the place he had plopped down while Johnny began quickly unbuttoning Hank's light blue uniform shirt. He reached around his waist and withdrew his shears, cutting open the thin undershirt with ease.

"I..I dunno what coulda happened?" Chet stuttered to his engineer.

"Take it easy," Mike reassured him relinquishing his grip on the younger man's forearm. "He's in good hands."

"Here's the datascope and IV box," Marco said kneeling down beside the working duo then backed out of the way.

Roy peeled off the backing on the sticky pads, grateful he found patches of sparse chest hair where he needed to place the pads on Hank's chest. Johnny attached the wires to the pads and both men held their breaths hoping their captain's heart was beating as strongly as theirs.

"Rampart this is squad 51…sendin' you a strip now…this'll be lead 2," Johnny said hanging up the black receiver. Meanwhile, Roy peeled open the ordered bag of fluid and began tearing off the necessary strips of tape readying them by stationing them along his thigh.

E!

Something was definitely wrong; Hank felt a hard cold sensation on his back and could hear unusual noises and mumblings around him. Darkness permeated and something was covering his nose and mouth giving him the feeling of being held in a tightly enclosed space. Suddenly, tightness gripped his arm with increasing pressure and a piercing pain burned the back of his left hand.

"Mmm," he groaned trying to open his dry mouth. "Ugghh."

"Cap? Cap'n Stanley, can ya hear me?" Johnny asked while Roy began to tape down the IV along the back of Hank's hand.

"51, we're reading a normal sinus rhythm. Repeat pain stimulus check. Are there any signs of a head injury?"

"He didn't hit his head," Chet spoke up. "I caught him before he went down."

"Negative on the head injury," Johnny informed Dr. Brackett.

"Hank Stanley, open your eyes!" Mike leaned over Johnny and raised his voice commandingly. He was rewarded by a pair of hazel eyes peering up at him through partially opened lids.

"Mi…Mike?" he rasped.

"Easy Cap…you ah, you kinda went out on Chet earlier," Roy said patting his captain lightly on the shoulder.

"Rampart…he's regaining consciousness now…we concur with your reading of normal sinus rhythm."

"10-4, 51…keep him on O2 and transport immediately. Repeat vitals every three minutes and notify us of any changes."

"10-4, Rampart." Johnny hung up the receiver and began packing up the biophone just as the ambulance pulled to a stop on the concrete apron of the station.

"I'll get 'em," Chet said shuffling out the office toward the raised bay door.

E!

Hank blinked his eyes trying to clear the blurriness. Something was swinging rapidly just above his eyes making his dizziness even worse. Finally, as his vision cleared, he could make out the faces of his two paramedics and realized that a stethoscope was dangling over his face as Roy reached over him to check the oxygen flow. He tried to lick his lips to speak but was stopped by another familiar voice.

"Just try to relax, Cap."

Hank looked into the blue eyes of his second in command and offered a weak nod.

Johnny turned quickly around as the Mayfair attendants bumped the door on their way into the small room. "Give us a hand, Mike."

Marco took over packing up the supplies as Mike, Roy, Johnny and the attendants loaded Hank onto the gurney. A beige blanket was spread over him and he was buckled in securely. Marco laid the oxygen tank between Hank's legs and followed with the biophone. Larry returned the rest of the equipment to the squad while Johnny followed beside the gurney, D5W bag held overhead.

Roy climbed into the back of the ambulance ready to receive his patient. Johnny handed off the IV bag while the two attendants positioned the gurney inside and Marco stowed the equipment Roy might need in route.

"I'll be right behind ya," Johnny verified then shut the door slapping it twice before jogging back to the squad.

"Call us." Mike's request was unnecessary but somehow he felt better as he watched Johnny nod his head in acknowledgement. He then stepped back beside Marco and Larry as they watched their captain being carried away followed closely by their squad.

E!

Chet had taken the opportunity to slip out the back door unnoticed by the rest of the crew as Hank was being loaded into the ambulance. He eased his van down the driveway stopping just at the edge of the building. He watched the ambulance pull out heading to the right with Johnny right behind it in the squad, lights and sirens blaring. He then eased up to the street and made the left turn carrying him away from the station and toward his next destination.

He made the turn which would take him to the San Diego Freeway just as a green station wagon pulled to a stop along the street near Station 51. A pretty young woman with shoulder length brown hair pulled back in a relaxed ponytail slowly stepped out of the car pulling a peach colored Tupperware container from the passenger's seat and placing it on the hood. She reached back in hoisting her hobo style purse onto her shoulder then slammed the door shut. She stood up, feeling the usual twinge from her lower back down below her left knee and yet smiling to herself through the discomfort. She scooped the Tupperware container up and headed toward the front entrance.

Mike was standing inside the captain's office, his mind reeling from the events of the morning, when he heard a faint female voice calling.

"Hello?"

He turned around, sticking his head out the office doorway and his face lit up. "Good morning, may I help you?"

"Um, yes," she lifted up the container in her arms. "I, ah…I just wanted to drop this off and thank you men for your service." She smiled at the handsome engineer while looking around inconspicuously for the man she really wanted to see.

"Oh, wow…thank you so much," Mike said in a pleasant voice. "Would you like to join us for some coffee?" He hoped the pretty distraction would lift the spirits of the men as they waited to hear news of their captain's fate.

"Oh, uh…I don't want to impose. Um…is," she hesitated, curling a loose strand of hair behind her left ear. "Is Mr. Kelly here?"

Mike accepted the container from her then knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. While it wasn't uncommon for a pretty face to stop by the station asking for the paramedics, it was a bit unusual for someone to be asking specifically for Chet. "Um…actually, he was here a few minutes ago," he stuttered remembering how quickly the young man had disappeared after the ambulance left. "But…we, uh…we had an emergency here a few minutes ago and he's…well, he left right after the ambulance." Mike was silently kicking himself for stuttering, not wanting to appear inept around the young woman. "Can I give him a message?" Mike's curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Uh, no…no message. I, I hope you all enjoy it," she nodded her head in the direction of the container Mike still held in his hands.

"Oh, I'm sure we will. Thank you, Miss…?"

"Marks…Ms. Caroline Marks," she corrected. "Thank you again," she offered with a slight wiggle of her fingers then turned around leaving behind her a stunned engineer.

Mike watched as Caroline walked gingerly down the concrete apron toward the station wagon. He thought he detected a slight limp in her gait but wasn't sure; his thought processes were somewhat off kilter as he tried to place her face and name. She had said the cake was for the station but then she had specifically asked for Chet. He thought back over all the fires they had responded to recently but couldn't recall ever seeing Caroline at one of them. Suddenly, he felt a pain in his gut as he realized this might be a 'thank you' for Chet's attempted rescue of Kyle Carrigan. Kyle had two sisters so perhaps this was one of them. He hadn't thought to check her left hand for a ring but she had corrected his Miss with a Ms. Perhaps this meant that she was divorced...and available. Then, he chided himself for his uncaring attitude. Fireman Carrigan's family was grieving and would be laying their loved one to rest in twenty-four hours. How could he be thinking of such things during a time like this? Or, maybe she was a neighbor, he surmised. He looked back down at the container in his hands, nodding to the woman who waved once more in his direction as she drove away. He then turned around to take the cake into the kitchen. The smell wafting to his nose made his stomach growl and his mouth water as he thought of how good it would taste with the coffee he, Marco and Larry would be drinking as they awaited word on their captain.

E!

"Any nausea or vomiting?" Dr. Brackett clicked off his pen light and returned it to his pocket then began palpating Hank's head and neck.

"Uh…no, no not really."

"Not really, huh?" Dr. Brackett looked up at Roy and Johnny who stood with their backs leaning against the wall. They both understood the silent question and gestured negatively in response.

"Well, how's your appetite?" Dr. Brackett propped a hand on his hip as he leaned against the gurney.

"Fine," Hank retorted, closing his eyes.

"How much are you drinking each day?"

"None on the job, Doc," Hank smiled, fully realizing that wasn't the type of drinking his doctor was asking about. "Gotta set a…a good 'xample for my…my men over there."

"Well, glad to see you didn't lose your sense of humor when you collapsed," Kel snickered. He did catch the reference to Hank's men being present and he looked over at Dixie who was checking Hank's blood pressure.

"138/82." She returned her gaze to the physician who gave a slight nod toward the door. He gave her a brief smile which she completely understood. "You take care, Hank. I'm gonna take your men down the hall for a cup of coffee while Kel finishes up with you."

Roy and Johnny watched the head nurse saunter across the room in their direction and crook her finger at the two of them. Both understood the beckoning motion and followed her out the door.

"Catch ya later, Cap."

"We'll let the guys know you're feeling better," Roy tossed over his shoulder as he followed his partner out the door.

Kelly Brackett crossed his arms over his chest and allowed his face to assume a serious look. He stared down silently at his patient who was lying with his eyes closed facing the wall. "Alright, Hank. It's just you and me in here now. What's really going on?"

Hank blew out his cheeks knowing that he needed to be honest with his physician. "I, uh…I don't want this getting back to my men…"

Kelly Brackett shifted his weight on his feet fully realizing the seriousness of what he was about to hear. "Doctor patient privileges," he said quietly. "Nothing you tell me goes any further, Hank. I can't treat you properly if you aren't being honest with me. You know how this works."

"Yea…thanks, Doc. I, uh…," he began, struggling to find his voice. He closed his eyes, licked his dry lips and began.

E!

Chet had been driving for over two hours and Mother Nature was reminding him he needed to take a break. He felt bad for leaving without saying anything to the guys but truly he hadn't wanted to discuss his situation any more. The guys would find out soon enough and he simply couldn't face them to tell them his plan. But, guilt over not waiting to find out about Captain Stanley's condition was putting as much pressure on him as his full bladder. Finding a convenience store along the highway, he pulled into a vacant parking spot near the payphone. After relieving himself and buying a cold bottle of Coke and some peanuts, he found some loose change and went into the phone booth to make the call.

E!

"Captain Smith?"

"Hey there, Marco. Long time, no see," the former captain of Station 51 said with a smile reaching out his hand to shake with his former lineman. "It's nice to see you guys again but I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Thanks for coming in, Cap," Johnny spoke around a mouthful of pound cake. "Good to see ya again."

"Well, it's nice to be back." The older man looked around at the familiar faces and realized one face was missing. He was about to ask where Chet was when the phone began to ring.

"I'll get it," Mike offered stepping over to the phone in the day room.

"I'll let dispatch know we're available," Captain Smith replied walking out the kitchen door to the station radio.

"Station 51, Fireman Stoker speaking."

"Hey, Mike. It's Chet. How's, ah, how's Cap doin'?"

"Chet, why'd you leave in such a hurry? I looked around for you and you were gone….and I wasn't the only one looking for you either," Mike teased.

Chet held the phone to his ear and stuck his other hand in his back pocket. He could tell by the light banter that Hank was obviously going to be alright. "Uh, Cap's mad huh?"

"Mad about what?"

Chet shook his head as the conversation was digressing away from the topic he'd called about. "Never mind. Listen, is Cap ok?"

"He's gonna be alright. Roy said that Brackett diagnosed him as being dehydrated so he's gonna be staying at Rampart until tomorrow so he can get fluids. He'll be fine," Mike said remembering the report the paramedics had given once they'd returned to the station. "Hey, guess who's here to replace Cap?"

"Ha, Hookraider right? Glad I'm missing that one," Chet groaned with a hint of sarcasm.

"Nope, Captain John Smith."

Chet's eyes grew wide even though he was alone in the phone booth. "I thought he'd retired or somethin'. Hey, tell him I said 'hello' will ya? I haven't seen him since he left that first year we were at 51's." Chet could feel his mood lighten with the memory of that first year in the new station.

"Hey, and you've been holding out on us, pal," Mike said jokingly.

Chet was confused. "What are you talkin' about, Mike? I came clean the other day and…"

"Whoa, Kelly…no, I'm talking about the pretty brunette who came in here asking for you a little while ago."

Chet felt his mouth go dry as he stood there in stunned silence. "Huh?"

"You know…Ms. Caroline Marks," Mike was hoping the name would jar Chet's memory…and his mouth. Mike wasn't one to snoop but his curiosity about the connection between the Irishman and the cake-wielding lady was getting to him.

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about, man."

"C'mon, Kelly…" Mike was interrupted by the tones sounding before he could finish his sentence. "Ah, gotta go, Chet. I'll call you back later and you can tell me about her."

"Hey, wa-wa-wait a minute. I'm…," Chet tried to explain that he wasn't at home but he heard the click on the other end of the line. "Caroline…Caroline…," he mumbled shaking his head as he set the receiver back in place. He was still mouthing her name when he pulled back the door of the phone booth. He grabbed his coke off the shelf and headed back to his van. He had a long way to go before nightfall and truthfully, he wasn't looking forward to the conversation waiting for him at his parents' home. But now, he had another mystery on his hands. He cranked up his van and pulled back out onto the highway still mumbling to himself. "Who the hell's Caroline Marks?"

E!

A/N: Thanks so much for your continued support through PM's and reviews. I really appreciate it.


	17. Chapter 17

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 17

Chet turned his van onto the dusty long driveway that meandered from the lonesome highway up to the two story home of his childhood. He shifted into park, squinting at the orange and magenta hues of the setting sun while he sat collecting his courage to face his own origin, no matter how sordid the explanation might be. He reached over, slinging his duffle bag onto his shoulder and slowly made his way up the three steps to the long front porch, struggling to walk without a limp so as not to worry his mother. He glanced at his watch and wondered if perhaps he would have time to ask the questions before he and his parents went to bed.

Charlene Kelly heard the bumping sound of her son's footsteps on the porch and quickly got up to turn on the light for him. She looked at her husband's worried stare and decided to paste a smile on her face for Chet's sake. She remembered the empty sound in his voice when he called to say he needed to talk to them. She had readily agreed for him to drive to their home as soon as he could get there. Now, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered as she opened the door to face whatever situation her oldest child was bringing home with him.

"Chester," she crooned, opening the door and extending her hand to caress his left cheek. The caress turned quickly into a hug.

Chet could feel her trembling within his embrace and a part of him wanted to run back to Los Angeles and forget the impending conversation. But, this was something he knew he had to do because he couldn't continue living in the pit of darkness that had swallowed him up all those months ago.

"Hey, Mom," he whispered, grasping her hand as they released each other. "How've ya been?"

"Oh, fine…fine," she turned around leading him into the kitchen where she had a pot of fresh coffee warming and fresh baked pumpkin pie waiting to be sliced.

Chet dropped his duffle bag near the doorway and followed his mother into the kitchen. The scents drifting beneath his nose made his mouth water and sent his mind reeling back to his childhood. He briefly considered how strange it was that smells seemed to trigger memory more than visual images or sounds. The train of warm thoughts jerked to a screeching halt as he entered the kitchen where he saw Charles Kelly sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee.

Charles turned a pair of tired eyes in Chet's direction as the older man stood and extended his hand. "Son, good to see you."

"Um, yea…you too." Chet struggled to get past the word 'son' but managed to ease through it without Charles noticing that anything was amiss.

"How about some coffee and pie? Both are fresh. I just made the pie today and the coffee is less than half an hour old," she winked playfully at her firstborn as she pulled a cup out of the cabinet.

"That, ah…that sounds great, Mom. Let me just run to the bathroom first. Been on the road a long time today," he snickered.

"I understand, dear. I'll have your pie and coffee ready when you get back."

Chet could only nod his approval as he turned down the hallway. He lingered in the bathroom much longer than was actually necessary to relieve himself trying to decide the best way to begin the conversation. He knew that he couldn't wait until morning; he'd lost enough sleep over the issue since he'd discovered it. Now, here he was face to face with the people who knew the answers to his questions. He washed and dried his hands then walked back down the hallway, hearing the old boards squeak beneath his weight with each step. As he neared the kitchen, he heard the end of the conversation his parents were having and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Please, Chuck, please promise me you won't fly off the handle with him like you did last time. No matter what it is he has to tell us just try to remain calm." She placed a soft hand on her husband's right shoulder leaning down for a quick kiss on the cheek. "He's very sensitive to your moods and I don't want him to run out on us again."

Charles felt his anger beginning to smolder. "You can't keep treating him like he's an infant, Charlene. One day, he's gonna hafta man up and do what's best for…"

"For whom, Charles?" Charlene walked to the kitchen sink slowly crossing her arms. "What's best for Chet…or what's best for you?"

"Damn it, Charlene…do NOT put words in my mouth," Charles' frustrations were beginning to seep out of his pores and puddle along his brow line.

She reached around behind her back, untying her apron and slamming it down on the counter. "What, Charles? What does Chet have to do to gain your approval? Quit his job and go to work someplace where he's miserable just to please you? 'Cause maybe that's why he's here. Maybe he's here to tell us he's going to change jobs. Is that what you want? You want him to give up his career just so you can sleep a little better at night?"

"No!" Charles slammed his fist down on the table causing the silverware to bounce and rattle. He sniffled a bit, his remorse for his actions evident on his face. "I'm sorry….I just…well, you understand. I mean," he looked up searching his wife's face. "You know why."

Charlene softened her voice and closed the distance between them. "Yes…yes, Chuck I do know why. But he doesn't. You've never told him or the other two either, for that matter. But Chuck," she held his face between his hands as her blue eyes darted back and forth drinking in the pain in the green orbs staring back at her. "He needs to know…he deserves to know why he carries the Blain name."

Chet's imagination had run amuck and he stood silently in the hallway clenching and unclenching his fists. When he could take it no more, he cleared his throat to announce his presence then stormed into the kitchen, startling both his parents.

"Yea…I do deserve to know," he looked from one to the other. "That's why I'm here. I want to get to the bottom of this whole thing right now." He pointed downward with his index finger as his breathing rate increased and he watched the stunned look on their faces grow.

"Ch, ahem, Chet…I…we," Charlene stuttered, feeling her throat closing up preventing her from swallowing.

"Mom," he never took a step towards her but his heart was reaching out in her direction. "Please…sit down," he requested pulling out a chair. "I need some answers that only the two of you can give me and I…I want the truth," he swallowed back the bile inching its way up his throat. "No matter what…just be honest with me…please?"

Charlene locked eyes with her husband as she sat down in the proffered chair. "Honey…what questions do you need answers to?" Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears.

Chet ran a nervous hand through his curly hair feeling the overwhelming need to pace but unable to accomplish the task. This wasn't at all going the way he'd planned it. Finally, he leaned his forearms on the back of one of the kitchen chairs as he looked at first his mother then his father and then returned his gaze to his mother's worried face. His mouth was dry and the lump lodged in his throat was beginning to make his eyes water.

"I, uh…last December when I was here, I was looking through Dad's box of war memorabilia and," he gulped trying to find his voice to continue. "I was looking at the dates and…" He scrubbed his scruffy face with his hand swearing under his breath. "The dates just don't add up."

Charles drew his dark bushy eyebrows together in confusion. He cast a quick glance at his wife and saw the same expression on her face as well. "What do you mean, they don't add up?"

Chet pulled out the chair he was leaning on and sat down. His hands became animated as his agitation grew. "For me…the dates just don't add up…for me?" He splayed an open hand over his chest.

"Well what kind of math are you using?" Charles asked trying to interject a bit of humor into the confusing situation.

"Gestational math, damn it!" Chet slammed his hands down flatly on the table, regretting the move when he saw the coffee bounce from his cup onto the tablecloth.

Charles and Charlene Kelly sat dumbfounded listening to their older son. Charlene kept repeating his last phrase silently to herself until her eyes grew large with understanding. "Chet! What are you insinuating?"

"Who is it, Mom?" Chet's vision was growing blurry with the tears he was trying desperately to dam up. "Who is he? I wanna know. I hafta know."

Charlene's face grew beet red. "He's sitting right in front of you!" Her words grunted through clenched teeth in disbelief at what she was hearing.

Realization colored Charles' face when he finally caught on to what Chet meant by gestational math. In spite of himself, he raised a nervous finger and pointed it straight into Chet's face. "I don't know what the hell you think you're trying to pull here but you will NOT make such accusations about your mother in this house."

Chet watched his father stand quickly, knocking his chair over with a crash that once again caused Charlene to flinch. Then Chet stood, matching the older man's stance as they locked angry eyes.

"I won't stand here and listen to this shit from you! This is MY house and you can get your sorry ass out of it now or I'll throw you out!"

Both Kelly men trembled with rage but both turned to look at Charlene as soon as she released her high pitched wail.

"CHARLES! Wait! At least hear him out!" She cried into both hands using them to cover her face for a moment. She jerked a napkin out of the dispenser and blew her nose. "Chester…wh…what exactly are you asking me?" Her voice was slow and deliberate.

Chet looked back at his father who still stood towering over the table, eyes red glaring at the younger Kelly man.

"Charles…please, sit back down." Her words were meant more as a command than a request. She hesitated while the older man carefully picked up his overturned chair and slowly took a seat. She looked back over at Chet who looked poised to bolt out of the house if Charles made the slightest move in his direction. "Chester?"

Chet's mouth moved but no sound escaped. He sat down, coughing into his fist and shifted in his seat seeking a comfortable position but finding none. "Mom…I, I know when you and, uh…you and Dad got married and that he had to report to New Jersey the following week. He didn't get back out here for over a year." Chet lowered his eyes and stared at his interlaced fingers twitching on the kitchen table. "He…he was deployed just a few days after he finished basic training which didn't give him enough time to travel out here and then back so…"

Chet's hesitation allowed Charles the chance to speak once more. "HE is sitting right here so why don't you address HIM instead of acting like HE isn't even in the room?"

Charlene firmly set her jaw then turned to her husband and did something she almost never did. "Charles…for once in your life would you shut the hell up and just listen to what your son is saying?"

Charles Kelly was taken aback by his wife's brazenness. His features softened a bit as he addressed her request. "Sweetheart, I AM listening to what he's saying and he's accusing you of…of being…loose…while I was at basic. Now I won't stand for it. I won't allow him to say something like that in our house."

Again, Chet blew out his breath and laid his head down on his hands on the table as he listened to the conversation going on around him. He kept waiting for an answer to his question but no one seemed eager to explain things to him. Finally, when he'd had enough, he slapped the table and stood up. "I'm sorry, mom…I'm sorry I brought it up…hell, I'm sorry I was ever even born," he managed to spit out as he reached the front door. He stumbled down the steps from the porch to the ground, trying not to reinjure his freshly healing cut. Hobbling as fast as he could he followed the fence row beside his parents' home, unable to put enough distance between himself and his arguing parents.

The field behind his parents' home had always offered a place for him to be alone during his awkward adolescent years. He remembered lying on his back staring up at the stars as a pimply faced kid who wondered why he didn't seem to have the charisma the other guys had with which to charm the girls. He remembered lying in this same spot and wondering why his dad was always so hard on him; much harder on him than on his brother George. Now, here he sat on this same mound of grass, back against a fence post, looking up at the same stars, seeking some sense of solace in finally understanding why Charles Kelly had never told Chet he loved him.

Inside the Kelly residence, Charles and Charlene had their backs turned to each other. Charlene's sniffles and nearly silent whimpers from her seat at the table sawed through his hardened heart. The emotional pain he began to feel was as agonizing as what he'd endured as a young soldier…and at this moment, he felt just as vulnerable and weak as he had back then.

Charles lifted his head from his hands and surveyed the contents of his home. Pictures of their three children taken during their growing up years showed happy carefree times. But Charles' heart knew that the smiles on their faces weren't always genuine. The three children he and his wife had reared had learned from a very early age to stay out of their father's way when he was in one of his angry moods; moods that seemed to happen too often around the holidays. He had always made sure that he was in total control of his family; a fact that Chet, seemingly, had spent his entire childhood and adolescence trying to disrupt and Charles had been heavy handed with him during those times. More than once, Charlene had encouraged him to talk to the children, especially their eldest, about their father's past but each time Charles had found a reason not to do it. Real men didn't talk about things like that and he felt an overpowering need to prove his manhood. He had been a good provider for his family, proof that he had loved them and was devoted to them. So why had their older son come home making such accusatory remarks about Charlene?

He watched his wife's shoulder's heaving with her sobs and he wanted more than anything to pull her into an embrace, tell her that everything would be alright. But that was something he simply could not do. Her words had peeled back several layers of his hard shell; layers that he'd spent decades sealing off from everyone. Finally, he could take her tears no more and he reached out slowly pulling her into an embrace.

"Sweetheart…I'm…I'm so sorry. I," he gulped, using every ounce of strength he could muster to proclaim his decision. "I'm gonna go talk to him…I want him to hear it from me…man to man."

Charlene, though initially resistant to her husband's embrace, couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was the announcement she had wanted from him since the children had been old enough to know what had happened. Her vision was blurred as she looked through her tears at the man she had loved since she was only sixteen years old. "Are…are you sure?"

He could only nod, swallowing hard to force the lump back down opening up his throat so he could speak. "I, I've never been more sure in my life."

E!

Mike grew tired of watching the movie the others seemed to be so enthusiastic about and stood up from his seat stretching. He quietly meandered out the kitchen door and made his way over to the dorm where he knew he'd have more privacy. He had tried to call Chet earlier but had gotten no answer to his calls. He had found that somewhat disturbing but decided not to mention it to the others yet. He sat down at the desk picking up the receiver and spinning the dial for the number he knew by heart. He leaned back, listening as the connection was made and waited anxiously for Chet to answer. By the fifth ring with no answer, he released his breath. By the tenth unanswered ring, he slowly set the receiver back down and cupped one hand over the knuckles of the other, resting his chin on the resulting plateau.

"Problem?"

Mike was startled by the voice but then wasn't surprised to see Johnny looking at him worriedly. Johnny seemed to be able to move with cat-like stealth. "Uh…I'm not…sure."

"Sorry, man…I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything, I just…," Johnny was pointing at his bunk when Mike raised a hand to stop him.

"No, no…I was just trying to get in touch with Chet and…and he's not answering."

"Oh," Johnny said, propping a hand on his hip. "Maybe he needed to get something to eat?"

"This isn't the first time I've tried today, Johnny. I don't like this. He's up to something," Mike said pushing back from the desk and standing up.

"You don't think…I mean, he wouldn't…," Johnny stuttered, rubbing a nervous finger beneath his nose.

"I don't know what to think. He never said why he came here this morning and," Mike's eyes suddenly widened.

Johnny recognized the look all too well. "What?"

"There's a letter on Cap's desk and it's written in Chet's handwriting."

"You read it?" Johnny couldn't believe Mike would stoop so low as to invade Cap's privacy.

"No, of course not but…neither did Cap."

"Huh?"

"It's still sealed. I saw it on his desk and," he swallowed then looked directly into Johnny's eyes. "John…do you think he'd quit because of all this?"

E!

Chet didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the field but he was ready to head back to Los Angeles; though what awaited him there wasn't much more than what he'd found here. He'd left his bag inside and even though he really needed his personal items, the prospect of facing Charles again made the decision to leave those items behind an easy one. He decided to call his mother later in the week to make sure she was alright, but he refused to go back inside his boyhood home and face the man who had just, for all intents and purposes, kicked him out.

Chet stood up, toeing the loose dirt around the fence post, not sure why he was so hesitant to leave until he realized that he still didn't know the circumstances around his existence. If his foot hadn't already been sore, he'd have probably kicked the fence post. Instead, he simply leaned his forearms on the fence one final time before climbing back through the wooden slats. When he stood up, he nearly choked. Walking towards him, eyes red but this time not from anger, was Charles Kelly.

Charles looked up and saw the pain in his son's eyes and knew that he was the reason it was there. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he walked closer to his firstborn. "Chester?"

Everything within him wanted to run but something kept Chet rooted in place. He refused to look at the older man and decided that the minute the yelling started, he would leave. "Yea?"

Charles gulped then did something that he should have done thirty years earlier. He reached out his arms and pulled Chet into a hug.

"What the…?" Chet somehow managed to resist the urge to punch the other man. Instead, he felt the silent shaking that he knew meant that Charles Kelly was doing something he never dreamed the older man would do. Cry.

Charles struggled to find the words he had to say. "Chester…I, uh…I love ya, son."

Suddenly, Chet wasn't a thirty-one year old firefighter but was somehow transformed back to the young boy who had longed to hear his father's words of adoration. He felt himself melt within the arms of the older man as he wrapped his arms around his father's back. "I…um,"

"Let me finish, ok?" Charles pulled back clapping Chet on the shoulders, tear-streaked face shining in the last rays of the setting sun. "I'm not mad at you for raising the question…not anymore. I just…I'm just stunned."

Chet felt his world begin to tilt.

"Let's have a seat."

Chet followed his father's request and waited as his father lowered himself to the same grassy knoll.

"Everything you said back there was correct…about the time, I mean. But your mom didn't…didn't step out me."

Chet looked over at the older man realizing in his tortured mind there was only one other possibility. "Ohmygod," he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "She was…I'm the result of…," he couldn't finish his thought.

Charles saw the look of horror on his son's contorted face and heard the panic in his voice. He wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and squeezed hard. "Absolutely not, Chet, so don't even think like that." He let his words sink in for just a moment. "It's true that I didn't have time to make it back out here and then back to Fort Dix in that short period of time. But, your mother was quite a gal…still is," he grinned slightly. "She teamed up with my best friend, Les, and the two of them traveled together to come see me before I shipped out. Chet…look at me please."

Chet dried his face with his shirt sleeve but then did as he had been told.

"Chet, I AM your father. Of that there is no doubt."

"What?"

"Chet, do I need to explain the birds and the bees to you, son?"

Chet hung his head in embarrassment. "Uh, no…but, are you saying Mom traveled across the country for a…um,…a conjugal visit?"

"Well…yea, I guess that's one way to put it," Charles said with a hint of a smile.

"Then…then that's when…when it happened?" Chet rubbed his face with his open hands. It had been a long day and his fatigue was catching up with him.

"Eh, correction…that's when YOU happened. I got the letter from her in April telling me that I was going to be a father." He reached out his hand and clapped his son on the back of his neck.

"Damn…I'm such an idiot," Chet lamented.

"No…you just didn't have all the information. I kept that letter with me in my pocket over my heart until I was able to come home. Back to my wife…and baby son." He let his words sink in before he continued. "That letter contained some…well, very private details and…it wasn't meant to be read by anyone but me so it never made it into the box, understand?"

Chet could feel the blush rising up around his neck and settling on the tips of his ears. "Oh…oh yea," he said with relief in his voice. "But why did you give me the middle name of Blain?"

Charles became deathly quiet as he fought the horrific memories stored in his mind. Finally, he looked out into the dimly lit field and in a voice barely above a whisper he spoke. "Son…that's…that's the hardest part of this. Your name is Chester Blain because I'M here…and HE isn't."

E!

A/N: I'll be tying up the loose ends very soon and bringing this one to a close. Thank you all for reading this and especially for the PM's and the reviews.


	18. Chapter 18

Warning: Hanky alert, violence and strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 18

"Listen, Mike…Roy and I can make a supply run to Rampart and swing by his apartment. I mean, I don't think we can call it in just because he isn't answerin' his phone but," Johnny still had his thumb pointed over his shoulder when Mike met his concerned gaze.

"That might be a good idea. I just have a bad feeling about this. With the mood he's been in lately and the fact that he came by here this morning then left without telling anybody," he huffed loudly blowing out his cheeks, feeling the tension growing along his shoulders. "Damn it, why didn't I ask more questions when he called earlier?"

"You had no reason to…so don't worry about it." Johnny didn't want his engineer to be blaming himself for Chet's disappearance. "By the way, who was the chick who came by lookin' for him? Maybe she knows where he is?"

"Her name's Caroline Marks…looks kind of familiar but I just can't place her and Chet acted like he couldn't either. I'm thinking she might be a friend or relative of Carrigan's just stopping by to thank Chet for…for trying, you know."

"Mmm, makes sense I guess," Johnny propped a hand on his hip then turned towards the dorm door. I'll get Roy and we'll go by Chet's place while we're out." Johnny started walking then realized Mike was not behind him. He turned back around and softly spoke. "Stoker, you ok?"

"Yea…," he mumbled, knowing that the perceptive paramedic knew he was lying.

E!

Chet sat cross legged on the ground waiting for his father to find the right words to explain the rest of the story to him. The older Kelly man leaned back against the fence post, his mind taking his heart down memory lane.

Charles Kelly lay awake between the cool sheets, his new wife safe and secure within his loving arms. They had shared a wonderful evening together and now as their bodies lay entwined, Charlene laid her head on her young husband's chest fighting the tears. Each tick of the clock took them closer and closer to that dreaded hour when he would be taken away from her – possibly forever. Slowly, she caressed his hairy chest soaking in the feel and scent that was Charles Kelly; hoping she would be able to remember them during his absence and praying the separation would only be temporary.

Charles never wanted the moment to end. If there were just some way for him to stop the war and remain in the states, then life would be perfect. But, he had a duty to perform and he never wanted his wife and family to be ashamed of him. He bent his head down, kissing the top of Charlene's head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo on her strawberry blond curls. "I love you so much, sweetheart," he whispered then felt the tear that silently dripped over the bridge of her nose and onto his bare chest.

"I love you too. Please, promise me you'll come back to me…please, Chuck."

Charles lifted her chin with the crook of his finger and planted a tender passionate kiss on her pouty lips. "There's nothing I want more than to come back home to you. As long as there's a breath left in me, I'll be back."

The alarm on the clock sounded and Charles reached over his wife and slammed the ringer off with a whispered curse. He felt her tighten her hold on him; he didn't want to let go either. "I've got to go, Charlene. It's time."

She sniffled and pulled away from his chest, covering her nakedness with the sheet as she reached for the clothing she'd hurriedly left on the floor the night before. The three days they had spent together had been the most wonderful of her life and she'd always be grateful to Les for agreeing to accompany her to the East Coast. She'd never traveled outside of California so having a companion, her husband's best friend, make the trip with her had eased her fears.

Lester Blain had always thought of Charlene as his little sister. He had been an only child, growing up in a small town with overly protective parents. He was stricken with polio when he was a toddler and had grown up with a bit of a limp. He'd never been able to play sports like the other boys and had developed the personality of a class clown to make up for his lack of physical prowess. When his friends were all enlisting to join the war, he'd been rejected due to his impairment; an event that nearly crushed him. However, his heart was that of a servant so anytime anyone needed help, he was right there doing whatever he could on the home front. He'd stood beside Charles as his witness when he and Charlene had eloped so when Charlene had mentioned wanting to see Charles once more before he shipped out, Les had made the arrangements, using his own money to buy the bus tickets for the long trip, then making himself scarce so they could enjoy their time together privately.

Now Les stood staring at his best friend holding his wife in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. He knew Charles' heart was breaking but he also knew that the young soldier dared not show his emotions publically. When she finally relinquished her grasp on Charles' shoulders, the young soldier reached out his hand shaking the hand of his best friend. "Les, take care of her will ya?"

"You bet," was the only reply Les' emotion-laden voice could provide but it was all that mattered. He pulled Charlene into a sideways hug as they watched Charles sling his bag over his shoulder and turn away from them, swiping a hand down his ruddy cheeks.

The letter had arrived in April telling Charles that Charlene was expecting their first child in November. He resolved then to be extra careful so as not to be injured. He had a young family that needed him now. He reread the letter every day always refolding it carefully and placing it inside his left shirt pocket. The months that followed were harrowing and letters from home were sparse at best. He had received a few from his beloved letting him know that their little one was growing just fine according to the doctor and she began asking for ideas for names. The burden would fall on his wife in his absence but Charles didn't care what name she picked out for Baby Kelly as they were calling the unborn child. He just prayed that the infant would be healthy, that his wife would survive the experience alone and that one day he'd be able to hold the precious product of their love in his hands.

As the war raged on and the summer turned to fall, he received a letter from his wife that was the worst he'd ever read. Charlene's handwriting had been difficult to read, a testament to her state of mind as she penned the words. Les Blain had died from injuries sustained in an apartment fire when a wall collapsed. He had gone down the hallway, as fast as his limitations would allow, trying to save the single elderly occupant he thought was still inside. Although Les had been brought out alive by the firemen who arrived just as he became entrapped, he had burns over sixty percent of his body and severe smoke inhalation. He lingered between life and death for nearly ten days before finally succumbing to his injuries. Charlene had been at his side when he died even though so many people had told her that she needed to remain at home in her delicate condition. But, Charlene Kelly was a determined woman and she stood in the place where she knew her husband would have been if he had been able to be there. She held his hand watching the rising and falling of his chest, hearing the death rattle from the fluid filling his lungs and then felt his hand go limp as he drew his final breath. Mr. and Mrs. Blain buried their only child at the age of twenty-four years.

Charles wept upon learning of his friend's death and he wept even more for Charlene's suffering along with Les. He wanted to go home more than ever but he couldn't. He still had a job to do and the war was raging around the world. The next letter he received arrived on December 10, 1944. The child was a healthy boy weighing six pounds and eleven ounces with a head full of curly dark blonde hair. He had been born on November 22, at 2:15 am. Charlene had taken the 'CH' from both her name and Charles' name and combined it with the 'ESTER' from Les' formal name. The infant boy was named Chester Blain Kelly and he was the spit and image of his father according to the letter. Again, Charles wept for all he was missing out on back home and he wept tears of joy at the news that he had a healthy son and that mother and baby were doing just fine. He longed to hold them in his arms and he despised the fact that Les hadn't lived to see his godson; the child whose very existence was due to Les' escorting Charlene across the country for a final visit with Charles before he shipped out.

By the time Charles had finished telling Chet the story, night had fallen completely. They could barely see each other but they didn't need to. Chet reached over grasping his father's hand, sharing his strength with the older man. "Thanks, Dad…thanks for sharing this with me….I had no idea."

"I should've told you a long time ago but…the memories are just so damn painful," he sniffled, releasing Chet's hand to dry his own face. "There's more."

"Dad, if you don't want to tell me then,"

"No son…I need to tell you. See, when I found out that you were on the way, I sent Les a letter and asked him not to tell Charlene about it because it would upset her. I had asked him to take care of her the day that I left but I…I needed to know that…that you'd be taken care of too if…if I didn't come home."

Chet listened to his father's sniffles as he continued.

"I…I knew that Les was…was the kind of man who…who would love my child as much as I did so…I, uh…I asked him to…to step in and…and be a father to you if…if I couldn't be." His voice cracked then and he had to take a breath in order to compose himself and continue.

"Dad, I…I don't know what to say. I mean, you…you really cared about me even before I was born," Chet said, gently rubbing his father's back in a comforting measure.

"Son…I've loved you since I got that letter in April of '44. And, I know there's a lot of men out there who've done a helluva job raising children who weren't their flesh and blood but…I just knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that…that Les would take care of you just as good…hell, better…than I could and…I've…I've always wanted the best for you." Charles took a deep breath; the burden he was relinquishing was heavier than he'd imagined.

"Les musta been quite a guy…I…I don't know if I could do that…raise another man's child as my own, I mean. I wish I coulda met him."

"So do I, son…so do I." Charles dried his eyes and continued. "I want you to know why I've been such a…a hard ass all your life." He took a cleansing breath then began. "See, I was…um, captured a few days later and…well, they treated us like…like shit…no, worse than that even."

Chet felt his chest tightening. Did he really want to know what his father was about to tell him? He sat there mesmerized by the sound of his father's voice unable to shut out the pain he was hearing in it as the older man shook. "You, ah…you were a POW?"

Charles shook his head not even realizing that his son couldn't see the movement. "Being captured, totally at the mercy of another man, it…it does something to ya. We were stripped of our dignity and we felt like failures as soldiers…as men. Hell, we had failed or else we wouldn't have been caught in the first place. All I could think about during that time was you and Charlene. Les wasn't around anymore to take care of you two for me and…I knew that no matter what I had to endure, I had to stay alive and get back home. On December 17…we were walked out to what was supposed to be our executions. My heart was dying even before the bullets began because I knew that…I wouldn't be there for you and your mom but…neither would Les. I…I had failed you all and I was about to leave this world without ever holding you or…," He took a deep breath unable to continue that line of thinking.

"It's ok, Dad," Chet whispered, encouraging his father to take his time.

"Anyway, something went wrong and a couple of us escaped but…most died that day. Helpless, shot in the head or in the back as they ran. Somehow, I managed to get away with just a bullet hole in my upper arm," he continued gripping the place where the scar remained still feeling the pain after three decades.

"Da-ad," Chet's voice broke as he sought the right words to comfort his father.

"That's how I ended up back home, son. I've often thought that maybe Les was somehow watching and made a way for me to…to get away. We had to hide out for a few days waiting to be rescued and…I got a pretty bad infection. The first time I held you in my arms, I had it all bandaged up," he struggled to catch his breath remembering how he felt that day. "It should've hurt like hell for me to cradle you," he began, absently cradling his arms reminiscent of holding his infant son. "But I never felt anything but your tiny squirmin' body, lookin' up at me with those big blue eyes and then…you, ah…you smiled," he sniffled. "You grabbed a hold of my heart that day and…you've…you've had it ever since, son."

The silence between them lingered as the night air blew gently through Chet's hair. No words needed to be spoken; Chet wanted to allow his father's mind to remain within that memory as long as he needed it to. Some moments later, Charles turned toward his son. "But I wasn't the same man I had been when I left that morning in February. I was bitter and angry. I hated those bastards for what they did to us…to the ones who didn't escape. I felt like I had to prove my…my masculinity and…hell, Chet. I just wanted to control everything around me."

"That makes sense, actually." Chet hoped he could alleviate some of his father's unwarranted guilt.

"Well, it made sense to the shrink I saw a few years back too. I…I never wanted you and the other kids to know that…that I had to see a psychiatrist for…for all this."

"There's no shame in that, Dad. You went through hell and you made it back. I…I would've never known you if you hadn't escaped." Chet draped his arm across his father's shoulders and could feel him shuddering.

"I know, son…but sometimes….like tonight, I wonder if maybe that wouldn't have been best."

"Don't say that…Dad, I...I love you so much. I might get a little pissed off at ya but…I love ya, man. And I'm glad you're my father." Chet felt the shuddering increase as he said those words. He allowed the silence to continue for only a moment. Then he spoke. "Dad?"

"Yea?"

"Is that why you hate me bein' a firefighter?"

"Chet…my god, son…I don't hate that you're a firefighter. I just…," he exhaled loudly drooping his shoulders. "I just…I can't stand the thought of you…you dying the way Les did. The old man wasn't even home…the damn apartment was empty and he died anyway. Chet, that shit could happen to you too and then..."

Chet pulled his father in close holding him while he wept his bitter tears. "I…I can't lose you, son. I just can't. But it's not just that. I…I've heard the stories of firemen getting trapped in buildings and…and their comrades being unable to reach them and …." Charles had to catch his breath before continuing. "Son, I hid out listening to my brothers being murdered and I didn't do a goddamn thing to help them. My head knows that if I hada gone back then I would've died too but…that doesn't make those fucking screams go away!" he raised his voice clutching both sides of his head in his hands. "They're in my head and they'll always be there and…I don't want you to have to endure that…to live like this," he said reaching down and pulling up a clump of grass with his bare hands. "Most of your friends are firemen right?"

Chet didn't respond. Truthfully, he didn't know how to answer that question.

"I know they are and…son, I don't want you to go through something like that. I don't want you to become me in twenty years…seeing some head shrinker 'cause you didn't save your brothers in a crisis."

Chet gulped trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "Dad, no one coulda saved those men that day…not even you." He reached out grabbing father's hand as he continued to plow up the earth with his fingers. "The LA County Fire Department is one of the most advanced in the country. We have special training and equipment plus we have protective gear that Les didn't have on that night. We have paramedics now too so fewer people die from their injuries."

"I know son…you've, ah…you've told me all about that before and that does make me feel better. Actually, knowing that you know all this...everything… makes me feel a whole lot better," he said sniffling and drying his face with his shirt. "I just…I worry…'s all."

"Well, I have good news for you then, Dad. This morning I turned in my resignation. I quit. I'm not going to be fightin' any more fires. Now you and Mom won't have to worry anymore."

E!

"Tell me again what we're going to Rampart for?" Roy asked, pulling out of the station and making the right turn headed for their base hospital.

"We'll think of somethin' when we get there but we're goin' to Chet's place first." Johnny propped his left arm on the back of the seat as the cool night air blew his dark bangs. "Mike's been callin' him all day and he isn't answerin'."

"Well if he's not answering then maybe he isn't at home," Roy deadpanned.

"Yea…that's what we're hopin'."

"You don't think he'd do something, do you?" Now Roy was beginning to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I don't know, Roy…I really don't know anymore," Johnny said looking back out the windshield with a faraway look in his eyes. "'Sides, we can always go by and check on Cap."

"Yea…you believe what Brackett said about him being dehydrated?" Roy cast a quick glance to his right.

"Nope…neither do you, huh?" Johnny asked as Roy turned into Chet's apartment complex.

"Nope," Roy said mimicking Johnny's own statement as he pulled the squad to a stop in a central parking spot and turned off the headlights.

Both men began looking around the building where Chet lived; his VW van conspicuously missing from its usual parking spot.

"Well," Roy began, surveying the sparse parking lot. "Guess now we know why Mike couldn't get him on the phone."

"Guess so," Johnny spoke into the quiet of the darkened cab of the squad.

Roy then cranked it back up, backing out of the spot before he turned on his headlights. The duo quickly made the trip to Rampart General, meeting Mrs. Stanley's blue edsel leaving the parking lot as they turned in. Roy quickly looked at his watch. "Oh yea…visiting hours are over."

Johnny jumped from the vehicle as soon as Roy put it into park. "I'll call Mike real quick and then we can go see Cap," he said fishing into his pocket for a dime.

Roy stood beside Johnny at the pay phone bank as he relayed the news to a very worried Mike Stoker. "Yea, nowhere in the parking lot…..humph, I hadn't thought about that…maybe he did go to visit them….um, we're gonna go check on Cap and then we'll see ya back at quarters….ok, bye."

Roy didn't have to ask for details of the conversation; he had pretty well followed it just by listening to Johnny's side. As soon as Johnny hung up the phone, the two of them headed for the elevator. Neither one noticed that Dr. Brackett had been watching them figuring they were headed upstairs and determined to follow them to protect the privacy of his patient.

E!

Hank lay in his hospital bed staring at the ceiling. His wife had gone home to rest knowing that he was in good hands. He was actually glad she had gone home because he hated seeing the worried look on her face. He looked at the IV tubing draped across the bed railing knowing that the only reason he was feeling any better was because Dr. Brackett had added some type of antianxiety medication to it earlier. He'd slept most of the afternoon and that was something he hadn't done since he'd learned of Kyle Carrigan's death. At least, the drug-induced slumber hadn't brought with it the nightmares he'd been experiencing. He felt the soreness on the back of his arm, remembering waking from one of the nightmares, thrashing wildly as his mind fought to enter the burning building to save the young man. His arm had crashed into the nightstand as he tumbled out of bed, not fully awakening until he'd rolled along the carpeted floor for a moment.

The sound of five swift knocks, mimicking the musical riff 'A Shave And a Haircut,' brought him out of his reverie.

"Come in." He really didn't feel like company but at this hour he figured it was his doctor making rounds.

"Hey, Cap…how ya feelin'?"

"Gage?" Hank asked surprised to see his two paramedics coming into his room at such a late hour.

"We ah…just thought we'd come by and see if you were feelin' any better?" Johnny asked, grinning.

"So are you?" Roy asked, handy talkie swinging from his wrist as he pocketed both hands into his navy blue uniform pants.

"Yea…just, ah…dehydrated so," he nodded his dark head up at the IV bag. "Giving me a fill up now."

"So I see, so I see. Good stuff, ya know?" Johnny said with a snicker, propping a hand on his narrow hip.

"Yea well…the mechanic here needs to check the ol' spark plugs and make sure the rest of the engine is working alright," he said with a half-smile, looking behind his men.

"Hi guys…did you leave me some business down in the ER?" Kelly Brackett knew the answer to that question. He had seen the two men enter the emergency room lobby, use the phone then head immediately upstairs. He figured Hank might not want to discuss anything with members of his crew so he decided to make his presence known.

"No, Doc…just came to check on our captain."

"Well Roy…we'll get him back to work soon," Kel said with a smile, pulling his stethoscope out of his pocket and proceeding to his patient's bedside. "Time for that spark plug check."

"Hey…take care, Cap," Johnny waved as he exited with Roy following.

Hank looked up at the dark haired physician. "I appreciate your timing, Doc."

Dr. Brackett patted the captain on the shoulder. "No problem, Hank. I just want you to feel better." He looked up at the nearly empty IV bag.

"I, ah…I think it's working, Doc."

"Glad to hear that…rest now and I'll check on you again tomorrow."

E!

I hope I conveyed the emotional talk between Chet and his father without it becoming too sappy or sounding too feminine. Thank you so much for reading this and especially for the encouraging PM's and reviews.


	19. Chapter 19

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 19

Charles Kelly lay in bed, his wife nestled closely at his side. He slowly ran his index finger from her elbow up to her shoulder thinking back to the morning so similar to this one when he was preparing to be shipped overseas. This morning was different in many ways though. Thoughts and fears that he'd been carrying with him since that terrible period in their lives seemed to have dissipated much like the morning fog. He leaned forward slightly, lightly brushing his wife's forehead with his lips, enjoying her peacefulness.

"Somebody's feeling much better this morning," she croaked out in a sleepy voice.

Charles pulled her into a firm embrace, inhaling deeply then blowing away the last remnants of sleep. "I feel so much…I don't know…lighter, I guess. I just wish I'd talked to Chet sooner."

"Well, he never questioned it until now and…we sure didn't think to bring it up," she said with a slight giggle.

Charles smiled, closing his eyes for a moment, enjoying his wife's soft skin touching his own. "Yea, but that isn't exactly what I mean. I just…I wished I'd've talked to him more…when he was growing up."

Charlene leaned up on one elbow and looked down into the face she'd loved nearly her entire life. The dark hair had that certain salt and pepper look she adored and the face had a few more wrinkles on it; but it was those shimmering green eyes that were exactly the same as they had always been and right now, they were melting her heart as they peered at her from beneath swollen lids, the kind of swelling that only comes from crying.

"Honey, don't start with the remorseful feelings. You've always been a great husband and father. You were the best friend Les ever could've dreamed of having and those aren't my words they're his."

"I just," Charles struggled to get his point across to her without becoming tearful again. "I just wish it hadn't taken me so damn long."

"Well, it doesn't matter how long it took. You both need each other and now those lines of communication are open so…so don't let them close," she said, kissing him playfully on the nose. When he didn't respond with a similar kiss back, she knew something was still bothering him. "Chuck? Talk to me…what else is wrong?"

"He…he told me something last night that…well, I'm not sure how to take it. I'm not sure it's what's best after all."

Charlene sat all the way up in the bed so that she could see her husband's entire worried face. "What'd he say?"

E!

Chet lay in bed staring at the ceiling in the bedroom he'd once shared with his younger brother. The bedspreads were different now, no longer reflecting the boyish colors of his youth, but the ceiling was still the same. He stared at the white squares with the tiny dark pin holes in them. He remembered as a child trying to count the dots as he struggled with his awkward adolescence. He'd never been big enough to play football and he'd never made the basketball team. His short stature and lack of ball handling ability kept the coaches from looking at him seriously even though he knew he could shoot with uncanny accuracy. He'd never been popular with the girls because he wasn't a jock and for some reason, girls didn't think his jokes were nearly as funny as the guys. He wondered how his father had gotten so lucky as to find a wonderful woman like his mother to marry and briefly wondered if he'd ever find a woman like that with whom to share his life. He laced his fingers behind his head, his dark curly hair in stark contrast to the white sheets, and closed his eyes. Had he become a firefighter just to prove something to his father and to everyone else who thought of him as inadequate? He had made it through the academy without a problem but he did have the slowest times out of the guys on his shift on some of the skills tests. Then he'd scored only 74th on the engineer's exam last year. He'd gone to work injured the other day and nearly hurt Roy with the hose and finally there was Kyle Carrigan. Would the young man still be alive if someone else had attempted to rescue him?

The familiar burning began again in the back of Chet's eyes as he remembered every excruciating detail of that night. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and knew that his former crew would be just getting off shift. He also knew they'd be going home to shower and put on their dress uniforms to attend Carrigan's funeral. He knew he should attend but he simply couldn't look at the faces of Carrigan's family feeling as though he had failed them. He'd allowed their loved one to die in that hellish nightmare plunging them into a nightmare from which there would be no waking. He felt the burn of the hot tears streaking from the corners of his eyes as he screwed them shut, the resulting tickle in his throat eliciting a sound between a cough and a grunt. He knew in his heart that he'd done the right thing by resigning his position. At least, he wouldn't endanger anyone else's life by pretending to be something he wasn't. Being a fireman was just one more failure to add to his growing list of inadequacies. Then he remembered that he'd have to go by the station one last time to clean out his locker. He'd been planning to do that yesterday morning but after Hank had collapsed, he'd completely forgotten about it.

He pulled up the sheets around his chin and rolled over swearing into the rolls of white cotton. "Shit!" He really didn't want to have to face the A-shift again but he did at least owe them an explanation. Then again, laying a brother to rest in a few hours might be enough to convince them that he was doing the right thing, the best thing for everyone involved, especially the citizens of Los Angeles County.

E!

"You think he'll come?"

Mike looked over at Marco, both men standing stoically as their department brothers continued to file in for Kyle Carrigan's funeral. The sea of dress uniforms was breath-taking. The flag-draped casket beneath the podium was a somber reminder of the hazards of the job. Kyle's family sat weeping for the loss of their loved one while around the immense crowd various members of LA's finest silently wiped trembling hands at the corners of their eyes.

"I don't know," Mike began not quite certain which missing shift mate the lineman meant. "Cap just got discharged home this morning so I know he won't be here and no one's heard a word from Kelly."

Marco wanted to continue talking but the service was beginning so he took a seat along with Mike; Roy and Johnny sat directly to his right.

Mike tried to focus on the service but his eyes kept roaming, searching for the woman who called herself Caroline Marks. He was certain she would be in the assembled group to pay her last respects to Carrigan. Row by row his blue eyes scanned but no one even resembled her. She simply wasn't there which led him to another even more puzzling question. If she wasn't at the funeral then she likely wasn't a friend of the Carrigan family…so who was she and why did her face seem familiar?

E!

At the Stanley residence, Hank stared into the third glass of water his wife had set before him. "Hon…I got rehydrated already. Now you're just making my eyeballs float."

She ran her neatly manicured hand down the back of his head. "I just don't want it to happen again. I'm worried about you. You've been under a lot of stress these past few days."

"Well, drinking water won't relieve the stress…in fact, it'll just create another kind of stress when I have to keep going to the bathroom," Hank said, standing up from the sofa and heading down the hallway for the second time.

Once he'd relieved himself, he stood in front of the mirror staring at the man he almost didn't recognize. The man looking back at him was at least ten years older than he had been last week. His temples were beginning to turn gray and the dark circles underneath his eyes were prominent.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the business card Dr. Brackett had given him when they were alone. He'd urged Hank to call and make an appointment; in fact, he had refused to write out the prescription Hank wanted until he called and scheduled the first appointment which was at four o'clock on Thursday. He would work off shift that morning then planned to find an excuse to not make the appointment. All he'd needed was a few pills to help him sleep, not a psychiatrist. He tore the card into four pieces then let them flutter to the waste basket beside the sink. "To hell with that!"

He dug into his pocket retrieving the slip of paper that Dr. Brackett had written his prescription on and stared at the words. He had no idea what it said but it did include one refill. He had wanted to get it filled on the way home but since his wife was driving him, he didn't dare ask to stop. No one needed to know about his situation. Dr. Brackett had assured him that no one would reveal his secret unless he became a danger to himself, to others, or if he became incapacitated to the point that he was unfit for duty. Hank knew in his heart that he would be alright once he got a little sleep…restful, dreamless sleep.

He folded the prescription back up and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would find an excuse to go out later in the day. Then he'd go to a pharmacy on the north side of the county just to make sure his regular pharmacist didn't know about his medication. He also needed to go by the bank beforehand. He only had a couple of dollars in his wallet and he needed to make certain that he had enough money to pay cash. He didn't want anyone to know about his weakness or to link him with the department.

E!

Chet spent most of the day resting, looking through old photo albums and sharing a few laughs with his father. The visit had been a good one but he needed to get back to Los Angeles and clean out his locker. Then he needed to try to find another job. His rent and utility bills would be due soon and he was already living paycheck to paycheck. He thought about other jobs that probably made a lot more money than he was making with the county. The only problem was that all he'd ever wanted to do was be a firefighter. All he was trained to do was be a firefighter. Most of his friends and nearly every aspect of his life were somehow connected to the Los Angeles County Fire Department. How was he going to make it if he gave all that up?

Then it occurred to him that his friends were the reason he had to give it up. He'd let Kyle Carrigan down with his failed rescue attempt. That never should've happened to a brother and if he stayed around on the job then it might not only happen again but it could happen to Marco or Mike, Roy or Johnny and could even happen to Hank…or to himself. No, he knew he couldn't do that…not to his friends, their families or even his own family. He now understood why his father had never supported him in his career choice and he was determined to make a change and do something to make his father proud.

"Chet? Dinner's ready!"

Chet closed the photo album he was reviewing and stood up making the familiar walk down the stairs to the dining room. "Smells great, Mom."

"It's spaghetti but I found a new recipe for the sauce. I hope you like it," his mother said as she placed the bread on the table.

"We eat a lot of spaghetti at the station 'cause Stoker makes this great spaghetti sau…ahem," he cleared his throat as he realized once more just what he was going to miss out on at the station.

He looked at the salad in the large bowl that his mother brought out and placed beside the sauce. He looked at the tiny pieces of vegetables she had cut up and his mind immediately went back to times when he'd helped Johnny cut up the vegetables for salads or stews, sitting around the table in the kitchen of 51's.

"Earth to Chester," his father called out in a voice reminiscent of the famed moon landing a few years earlier.

"Huh? Did you say something?"

Charles looked into the longing eyes of his son. Their usual bright blue color seemed to be as faded as an old pair of jeans. "Would you like some bread?" he repeated himself holding out the bread basket toward his son.

"Oh, yea thanks," Chet accepted the basket graciously but he no longer had an appetite. He forced himself to eat just to make his mother happy.

When the Kelly's saw that Chet was finished eating, Charles began the conversation. "Son…we'd like to discuss something with you."

Chet lifted his eyebrows toward his hairline. "Sure, what's goin' on?"

"Your father says you've resigned from the department. Is that really what you want to do?" Charlene had a feeling that Chet's answer might not be an honest one.

"Um, yea…it's dangerous and it's…uh, it's not a job for a short man like me. Plus, I don't make much money so…I'm going to find something else to do." His heart was breaking as he tried to put a good spin on the situation.

"But…it's been all you've ever wanted to do. How can you just…just give it up so easily? And…you haven't even found another job yet."

"Hmmph," Chet began, exasperation filling his voice as he looked at his concerned mother. "I'm not good at it so it's best that I give it up. I mean, I can't get promoted to engineer. I get latrine duty more than Johnny and…and that's BAD. So, why should I stay? They'll just replace me with some boot to pull a hose. I mean, it ain't like nobody else can do the job. My presence in the department has never made a positive difference in anybody's life. Never has…never will…end of story." Chet stood up looking back at his parents with compassion in his heart. "Besides, I've already caused one set of parents to have to bury their child. I'll be damned if I'm goin' to make that mistake again," he turned to walk out of the kitchen but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "I love you both, Mom…Dad. I love you too much to put you through what the Carrigan's are going through. I'm…ah, I'm goin' to bed now. I need to leave early in the mornin' but…this really has been a great visit. Maybe the best ever," he said softly, trying to force a smile to peek out from beneath his mustache but it never made an appearance. "G'night."

Charlene watched their son walk up the stairs then rested her head against her husband's chest. "What are we supposed to do? I wish he would find a safer career but…I just wonder if I'm being selfish?"

"I believe so, dear," he said pulling back to look at her face. "And I've been more selfish than anyone. I've never stopped to think about what might make Chet happy. But I had no idea that the young man's death was having such an impact on Chet. He told me that the guy had a severe head injury so…why is he blaming himself for Carrigan's death?"

"Oh my poor baby," she moaned as she pondered her husband's words.

"We've got to try to convince him not to give this up no matter how strongly we want him to be safe." Charles hesitated then answered the question she hadn't yet asked. "Because the department's where his heart is. And a man can't be happy unless he follows his heart. The only problem is that…right now, Chet's heart is broken and I'm not sure he even realizes it."

Chet lay awake for hours thinking back over the reasons he'd given his parents for leaving the department. He couldn't remember a single time in his entire career where he'd done anything that another firefighter couldn't have done just as well. He even thought about riding with Johnny in the hose bed of the engine after he'd been bitten by a rattlesnake. If there was ever a time when he needed specialized training like the paramedic program then it was on that day. But, all he could do was use the snake bite kit to remove as much venom as possible, swab down Gage's forearm and pump up the blood pressure cuff so that the man could start his own IV. That thought led to the memory of another incident where Chet had been injured in an old building. Roy and Johnny had risked injury to themselves to go in and rescue him. Never would he ever allow another firefighter to risk his own life to save Chet's. He had to allow his resignation to stand if for no other reason than that one; he needed to save another life by making sure he never endangered it in the first place. With his decision firmly made, he drifted off into peaceful sleep. Tomorrow, he would drive back to Los Angeles. The next day he'd go to the station and provide Hank with a proper notice of his resignation, clean out his locker and say good-bye to his friends. Then he'd begin the next chapter of the rest of his life.

E!

A/N: Thank you for the PM's and reviews. I appreciate hearing what works and what doesn't in my stories. This truly helps me improve which is my ultimate goal. Thank you for helping me as I strive towards that goal.


	20. Chapter 20

Warning: strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 20

Hank awoke with a start, heart pounding and perspiration sliding down from his temples. He ran a hand down his face staring out into the darkness of the bedroom he shared with his wife of nearly twenty years. That is, he used to share with his wife. He reached over feeling the coldness of the sheets on her side of the bed and whispered a curse into his pillow. It had happened again. He turned back over facing his alarm clock and realized that he might as well get up. The alarm would be going off in half an hour anyway and after the sudden awakening he'd experienced, he knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon.

He showered and shaved then put on his blue uniform. He hoped that getting back into the routine would improve his situation. He set about packing up his duffle bag with the clothing he would need for the next twenty-four hours. He kept a toiletry bag in his locker so all he really needed was clean underclothing and socks, extra uniforms and an extra pair of shoes. He remembered how Roy had made a squishing sound walking around the station after he was accidentally knocked into a swimming pool on an attempted suicide run. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his lips as he thought about Johnny laughing at the irritating sound. Ever since that day, each man on A-shift had always maintained an extra pair of shoes in his locker during his shift. Hank took one last look in the mirror to make sure he would pass inspection should Chief McConnike decide to make an impromptu visit then gathered up his duffle bag and walked out of the bedroom.

He quietly opened the door of the guest bedroom and for a moment listened to her gentle snores. He hated that she felt the need to seek refuge in their guest room but he had to admit that he didn't blame her, not really. He slowly pulled the door closed listening for the clicking sound that let him know it was completely shut then headed down the hallway and out the front door.

The morning was just beginning to come alive and he deeply inhaled the cool air. He looked at his black sedan; the early morning sun barely peeking above the horizon was reflected in the windshield. The colors would have seemed beautiful to anyone else but to Hank, the windshield seemed to be reflecting a blaze that made his blood run cold. He quickly shook the thought from his head. He had to keep himself together or the first run involving a structure fire was going to send him over the edge of the slippery slope he was teetering on.

He reached his long fingers beneath the door handle opening it and slinging his bag into the passenger's seat. He glanced at his watch realizing he would be much earlier than usual but that would give him time to review what happened on C-shift. Plus, if Captain Hookraider wanted to leave a little early then that was fine by him. He turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway.

E!

Chet rolled over in bed, slapping at the offending noise of his alarm clock. He raised himself up on his elbows looking around his bedroom trying to reorient himself. This was it; the day he had to make his final appearance at Station 51. He'd gotten home late the previous night and had simply crawled into bed, exhausted from the drive. Now, he forced himself out of bed and into the shower. He had to make himself presentable because as soon as he left the station he needed to start looking for another job.

By the time he'd finished his shower and gotten dressed he looked at the clock and chuckled to himself. "Not today, Kelly…no more latrine duty for being the last one to arrive for shift." He walked out of his bedroom and into his small living room where he saw his duffle bag still sitting on the floor where it had been sitting since his last shift. "Humph," he sarcastically uttered. He hadn't known at the time that the last shift he had worked was actually going to be his last shift. If he had known, would he have done anything differently? He contemplated how he had treated his brothers the following morning when they came by to check on him and mentally chastised himself. He felt like the worst excuse for a friend there had ever been not to mention the most pitiful excuse for a firefighter ever. These thoughts reconfirmed that he was absolutely doing the right thing. Now all he had to do was drive over to 51's and accept whatever harsh response his captain and shift mates were going to have for his sudden resignation. "Former shift mates, Chet," he said, wincing as he stepped down on the first stair a little too hard on his sore right foot. "They're no longer your shift mates."

E!

Across the small yard between the buildings, Caroline Marks was doing her morning stretching exercises when she noticed the curly haired fireman making his way down the stairs and across the lawn to his van. She smiled, feeling the usual twinge in her lower back as she bent back down towards her toes once more. She thought of Corrie still asleep and felt the warmth in her heart spread. This was the day they would go to Station 51 and properly thank the men; especially the man she now knew as Firefighter Chester Kelly.

E!

As Hank neared the intersection of Avalon Blvd and East 223rd street, he heard sirens. He kept his foot on the break, anxiously watching as Squad and Engine 51 passed through. "Stay safe, fellas," he whispered to himself inside the car. Because of the passing of the emergency vehicles, he had to sit through another red light then as the light turned green he made the turn onto East 223rd and was soon pulling into his familiar parking spot behind the station. A part of him was a bit relieved that he would have a few minutes alone to review what he'd missed from the previous shift and to mentally prepare for his first full shift since that horrific night.

The combined smells of equipment, concrete and the fresh java formed a unique and welcoming scent. He poured himself a cup of the steaming hot liquid then headed straight for the captain's office. Pulling back the rolling olive green desk chair, he took a seat while his eyes scanned the desktop. Nothing appeared unusual so he reached into the mail bin with the words "STANLEY" on the label in bold black letters. He withdrew a couple of memos and a small card in a white envelope with the name "Carrigan" in the upper left corner and the words "STATION 51" in the middle. His hands trembled as he stared down at the name that had come to haunt him both day and night. His mouth seemed to go dry; a dryness that hot black coffee couldn't quench. Adrenaline coursed through his veins wreaking havoc on his central nervous system. His heart rate increased slamming the organ around like an out of control rubber ball and he began to sweat profusely as his respirations increased rapidly. He felt his fingers and tongue begin to tingle and knew he had to stop what was happening before he hyperventilated. He shoved the envelope into his shirt pocket while standing and walking around inside the empty apparatus bay. After a couple of laps inside the small space, he stepped inside the kitchen and picked up a tall glass from the cabinet beside the sink as he turned on the cool water. Slowly, he drank the entire glassful of water, grateful that the human body could not breathe and swallow at the same time. After the second glassful, his breathing rate had dropped enough that the tingling disappeared.

Carefully, he withdrew the envelope from his shirt pocket, leery of what the contents might hold. He licked his dry lips as he peeled back the flap and read the scripted gold lettering on the outside.

"THANK YOU"

He silently read the contents of the simple card. The words had been penned by Kyle Carrigan's father telling the crews from the station how much he appreciated all they had done to try to save his son and thanking the men for their acts of kindness in the days that followed. Hank closed the card and replaced it inside the envelope. He decided he would circulate it during roll call, being unable to read it out loud to his men. He then returned to his office to review the remaining mail when he heard the sound of his engineer's pick-up pulling into the back parking lot. He hesitated, sipping his coffee just outside the kitchen door as he waited for Mike to make his entrance.

"Morning, Cap," Mike called out before he'd gotten inside the apparatus bay.

"Morning, Stoker."

Mike completed the distance across the back concrete lot then stepped inside the shadows of the station. That's when he noticed just how pale his captain was and knew immediately that he must have read the letter Chet had left. "You, ah…you ok?"

"Yea," Hank mumbled into his coffee cup.

"You read it, didn't you?"

Hank could only nod his head affirmatively. "Yea…it really got to me. I'll be passing it around during roll call. It's meant for all of us and I don't think I can manage to read it out loud." He turned his back on his engineer and walked beside the brick wall returning to his office as Mike stepped into the locker room to deposit his personal effects into his locker. The sooner he did that the sooner he could grab a cup of coffee and spend a few minutes trying to cheer up the man who was not only his mentor but also his friend.

E!

Marco reached into his back seat and retrieved his extra uniforms and duffle bag for the shift that was about to begin. He had tried calling Chet several times yesterday but to no avail. He hoped that perhaps one of the other guys would have information on their crew mate's whereabouts. He waved a hand in Roy's direction as the paramedic pulled up in his gold colored Porsche. He hesitated, waiting for Roy to get out so they could walk in together. He also had an ulterior motive.

"Good morning, DeSoto."

"Hey Marco…heard anything from that partner of yours?"

Marco's heart sank into his shoes at Roy's innocent question. Without realizing it, Roy had just confirmed that he didn't have any news on the wayward lineman either. "No…I was hoping maybe one of you fellas knew something."

Roy stopped walking; his worried eyes penetrated Marco's defenses. "No…no I haven't heard anything and I don't think John has either."

Marco stared down at his feet; the clean uniforms hanging from his fingers suddenly seeming to weight him down. "Damn," he swore, uncharacteristically. "Have you talked to Stoker?"

"Not since the funeral. Why?" Roy was getting the feeling that Marco knew more than he was telling.

"Chet left Cap a letter right before he collapsed. Mike said it hadn't been opened so the episode Cap had probably wasn't related to its contents but…Mike thinks Chet may be resigning."

Johnny wheeled his Rover into the station next. He quickly hopped out, tossing his aviator sunglasses carelessly onto the seat then grabbing his uniforms and duffle bag. He slammed the door with much more force than was necessary. With his head bowed down, he charged hurriedly towards the locker room obviously avoiding eye contact with his perplexed crew mates.

"Good morning, Gage." Marco looked at Roy with a questioning look on his face as he waited for a response from the elusive young man.

"Mornin'," Johnny mumbled.

"Hold it, Junior!" Roy's words stopped Johnny dead in his tracks.

The dark haired paramedic tossed the fleshly dry cleaned uniforms over his left shoulder throwing his head back with an exasperated sigh.

"Whatcha need?"

"Just wondering what's going on with you this morning. Something wrong?"

"Nope, just need to get ready for shift. Do ya mind?" Johnny asked; his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yea, actually," Roy began as he and Marco sauntered over to the place where Johnny stood with his back to them. "So, who is she and what'd she do to you this time?"

"Nothin', Roy. I didn't even have a date so just…lemme get dressed." Johnny could feel the heat of his crew mates stares as they got closer to him.

"Whoa, what the hell happened to you?" Roy stood stunned looking at his partner.

"Yea, Gage. That looks serious," Marco added.

"'s not as bad as it looks," Johnny said trying to play off the bruise.

Roy tentatively reached out carefully pulling back the tan collar on his partner's shirt exposing a very bruised area along Johnny's lower neck. Roy whistled loudly. "That's quite a hickie she left on you!"

Johnny cut his dark eyes at Roy squinting coldly as he swatted his partner's hand away from his sore neck. "'s not a hickie."

"You're right, Gage. It's a bite mark," Marco said with surprise in his voice.

"I know, I know," Johnny retorted in frustration.

"Seriously, what kind of girl did you go out with last night?" Roy asked curiously.

"I didn't," Johnny said flatly. "I pulled some OT over at 85's yesterday and I… uh, we hada bad run durin' the night. Mind if I get dressed now?" Johnny headed hurriedly into the locker room before his shift mates had a chance to stop him.

Roy and Marco looked at each other shrugging just as Mike stepped through the kitchen doorway blowing on his cup of coffee.

"He'll need to put a bandage on that during shift or he'll scare our victims," Roy chuckled as he and Marco walked over to greet their engineer.

Mike propped one hand on his hip then took a sip of his coffee. "What's up with him?" He asked, leaning his back against the brick as he shifted his weight to one foot.

Roy looked casually over his shoulder at the door where his young partner had retreated, then returned his attention to Mike, shaking his head slightly. "Some chick planted one on his neck. They must've really been, uh…amorous last night," he chuckled.

"More like violent, DeSoto." Marco shifted his gaze to his snickering engineer. "She left teeth marks on his neck!"

Mike contorted his face in mock agony. "Ouch! Is she into that…uh, whatcha call it?"

"S and M?" Roy asked, bashfully.

"Yea…weird," Mike responded. "Gage can sure pick'em can't he?"

Suddenly a loud crashing sound followed by a string of expletives that would seem shameful to even the most hardened sailor exploded around the inside of the captains office. Mike raised his shoulders up to ear level then set his coffee cup on the radio. The three men moved as one to the closed captain's door but it was Mike who finally knocked softly.

"Come in!" The shout sounded more like an order rather than a response to a nonverbal request.

"What's wrong?" Mike asked, surveying the coffee splattered along the wall.

"What happened, Cap?" Roy asked before Hank had a chance to answer Mike's question.

Marco listened intently as he bent down and picked up the three pieces of what was once a coffee cup.

"I can't believe that twit is doing this," Captain Stanley said in a calmer voice as he thrust the crumpled piece of paper towards his engineer.

Mike read the short resignation letter to the other men standing around him then dropped his hand to his side, laying the letter back on Hank's desk. "How can he do this?"

"Mike, it's his life. He can do whatever he wants but…," Roy began but was quickly interrupted by Marco.

"But he's making a rash decision about this whole thing. We're all upset about Carrigan but fellas, Chet was the one who brought him out and I think maybe he's blaming himself for the guy not making it."

Hank rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers. "Yea well…it sure as hell isn't Kelly's fault."

"It isn't yours either, Cap," Mike offered in his soft spoken voice.

The two men locked eyes for a moment allowing the silent communication to occur without the others seeing it. Hank couldn't disagree more with his engineer but now wasn't the time to get into it.

"Well, we'll just have to talk to him…talk him out of doing it," Marco announced.

Hank looked back down rereading the letter and noticing the additional lines written at the bottom of the page. "Can't do that, Lopez. Read the rest of it." Hank watched his lineman's expressive face as he silently read the remaining words. When Marco's stunned eyes met those of his captain, Hank spoke. "If that's true then…he's in a hell of a lot of trouble."

"What for?" Johnny asked, immediately assuming the last few words he'd overheard were directed at him. "I told them it happened when I was working over time."

"What?" Hank asked in an irritated voice spinning his chair around to face his younger paramedic. His red-rimmed hazel eyes bugged out when he saw the wound on Johnny's neck. "Shit, Gage!"

Johnny immediately threw his left hand up to the side of his neck to try to cover the evidence. "Oh, it's nothing, Cap."

"Like hell," Hank responded pressing the heels of his hands against the arm rests, raising up his lanky body to his full height of six feet four inches. He pulled the light blue shirt collar away from Johnny's neck then stood staring at him. When Johnny didn't remove his hand, Hank cleared his throat. "Ahem."

Johnny rolled his eyes as he acquiesced to the unspoken command allowing his hand to drop back down to his side. His adams apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow under the scrutiny of his captain's judgmental glare.

"I don't know what you young fellas like about that funny stuff you're doing these days but I'll be damned if I'd ever let a woman injure me when we're being romantic." Hank released Johnny's shirt collar feeling the heat of his own blush rising.

"Sir, it wasn't like that see," Johnny tried to explain but was quickly cut off by his superior.

"Oh, I see, Gage…believe me, I see. Now what you do on your own time is your business but you can't come to work looking like you tried to have sex with a crocodile!"

E!

Chet pulled up in front of the station, careful not to park near the front entrance. He didn't feel right about parking in the back parking lot as that was reserved for members of the department; he no longer qualified for parking in the rear of the station. His mouth had gotten dry with nervousness so he picked up the can of coca cola he'd purchased on his way into the station. His feet felt like lead as he trudged up, realizing that C-shift was on a run which meant his former crew members would be getting ready for roll call. He inhaled deeply, blowing out his cheeks as he shoved his free hand into his back pocket and walked up to the open captain's door. He heard the raised voice of Hank Stanley and surmised that his nemesis had somehow managed to get himself in trouble prior to roll call. He gulped a large swallow of the cold dark soda when he heard a phrase that made him stumble over his own feet and sent the carbonated beverage down his airway.

E!

Caroline cast a quick glance at the passenger's seat and saw the most heart-warming face smiling back at her. "We're almost there, sweetheart," she said, returning her eyes to the road as she made the turn onto East 223rd Street. Two blocks later, she pulled the green station wagon into the spot behind the van she recognized. "Oh this is perfect. He's here for sure," she mumbled shifting into park only to realize that the apparatus bay was empty. She tried to hide her disappointment as she decided to wait a little while hoping the crew would return. She rolled down her window allowing the fresh breeze to soothe her nervousness when she happened to see a group of men dressed in blue shirts move into the empty bay quickly. "Oh, look they're here!"

She quickly opened up her door and ran around the back of the car until she reached the passenger's side door. She opened it, making sure that Corrie's outfit and hair were smoothed into place then grasped the smaller hand and began walking up the concrete apron with her purse swinging over her shoulder and the brightest smile she could manage planted firmly on her pretty face.

"Ahua…argh...aauugh," Chet wheezed stumbling into the door with his back and sliding down it slowly. He felt as if he were drowning in soda and for all intents and purposes, he realized he actually was. He couldn't believe he had heard Captain Stanley accusing Johnny of having sex with a crocodile. He leaned forward covering his mouth and nose with his hands as coca cola poured from both orifices. "Fu..uhau…arugh," he continued, squeezing his blue eyes shut as the burning in his nose continued. He felt two sets of hands reaching out for him and knew immediately that the ministering hands belonged to Roy and Johnny.

"Easy, Chet….what happened?" Johnny questioned.

Chet finally lifted his teary eyes to look into the face of John Gage and was stunned by the large bite mark along his neck. "Ahua…Gage…ahua, hua…you…ahua…ahem, really did, aarrgh, didn'tcha?"

"Did what?" Johnny asked, puzzled by the red-faced wheezing man. Then Johnny put his hand over the left side of his neck. "Oh…bad run over at 85's…are you ok?"

Hank watched as his paramedics thoroughly assessed Chet. He had a lot of questions to ask the young man but he wanted to wait until the Irishman could breathe clearly before the interrogation began. Then he heard a young female voice call out.

"Excuse me…hello?"

Hank and the rest of the crew looked up and smiled at the young woman with her toddler in tow. "Hello ma'am…can we help you?"

"Hi Ms. Marks," Mike offered, recognizing the young woman from her previous visit.

Chet looked up, rubbing his eyes to dry the tears caused by his near fatal encounter with a can of soda. He looked at first the woman who was smiling at him and then down at the child beside her. He had a good view of the precocious face grinning at him as he was still seated and at eye level with the little tyke. Then, his pale blue eyes widened with recognition and his mouth dropped open. For once in his life, Chet was speechless as the memories flooded his soul.

E!

A/N: Once again, I want to thank you for reading this story. We are very near the end and I truly appreciate all the support, encouragement and corrections you've provided through your PM's and reviews. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me.


	21. Chapter 21

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 21

He opened his mouth to speak but instead of his own voice, it was his captain's deep baritone words that echoed in the empty apparatus bay.

"Care to join us for a cup of coffee? I bet we can find some juice for this lovely little lady too," Hank grinned at Corrie as she looked up at him while inching closer and closer to her mother.

"Oh…no, I mean…I don't want to impose," Caroline remarked, suddenly feeling self-conscious of their unannounced visit. "I…we," she corrected, squeezing Corrie's tiny hand, "just wanted to stop by to tell you all thank you."

"It's no imposition at all. We enjoy visits especially from pretty ladies," Mike offered with a wink at the bashful little girl. He reached out a hand to Chet assisting his lineman to his feet and noting the shell-shocked look on his face.

"He's right; we've got fresh coffee and you can see the previous shift is still on a run so we won't be getting toned out." Marco had also heard about the mysterious Caroline Marks from his engineer and wanted to find out more about her and her obvious connection to Chet.

"Well, if you're sure we won't be in the way…"

A multitude of male voices assured her that their presence was welcome as the small group made their way to the kitchen. Chet's voice wasn't among them as he remained speechless staring at the little girl and her mother. He continued to cough and clear his throat from behind the group and was the last one to enter the kitchen. He pulled out a chair and sat down realizing that Roy had already assisted Caroline with her seat.

"It's nice to see you again…under better circumstances, ma'am." Roy's memory had finally made the connection. "Looks like everything turned out alright for you…both of you," he said softly.

Mike and Marco began passing steaming cups of coffee to the adults gathered around the table.

"Grape juice or milk?"

Caroline looked at the tall paramedic she didn't recognize and saw the painful looking mark on his neck. By Corrie's reaction, she saw it too.

"Owie," she said, pointing at the tall thin man.

"Yes, Mr. Johnny got an owie at work yesterday," Roy said wondering to himself if he'd just lied to a toddler.

Caroline recovered from the shock and looked down at her daughter sitting in her lap. "Sweetie, would like some juice or some milk?"

"Monk," she uttered in her tiny voice then turned her face into her mother's chest.

Johnny couldn't stop the crooked smile that tugged at his lips. "Well then monk it is," he said using the child's own pronunciation of the word. He poured it into a small juice glass and returned the pink carton to the top shelf of the refrigerator. "Here ya go," he said placing the smoky colored glass in front of the little girl. "I'm afraid we don't keep sippy cups around here."

"What do you say, Corrie?" Caroline asked, grinning at Johnny's quip.

The little girl looked up at her mother then at the paramedic. "Tank coo."

"Ah, you're very welcome." Johnny patted the little girl on her head.

"Thank you," Caroline smiled accepting the proffered cup of coffee from Mike.

"So what brings you by for a visit?" Hank inquired, sipping his coffee; his encounter with his first cup hadn't ended well for either of them but especially not for the cup.

"I wanted to," she hesitated then reached inside her purse and pulled out a small brightly colored card. "That is…Corrie and I wanted to invite you all to her third birthday party next weekend." She handed the card to Hank. "It's because of you all that…that we're here."

Johnny racked his brain trying to remember assisting in Corrie's birth or rescue but his mind was blank. He looked around at Roy who was smiling and then at Chet who was still stunned. "I love kid's birthday parties."

"That's because you're still a kid, Junior."

A round of snickers followed Roy's comment.

"Sh…she's really…here and she's….she's ok," Chet mumbled, beginning to connect the dots from the previous year.

Caroline smiled down at her little girl who was enjoying her milk. "Yes, Mr. Kelly…she's perfect and…I wanted to thank you," she looked around her. "All of you for saving us."

"Chet…you can call me Chet. I'm…uh…,"

"Speechless? That's a first for you, Kelly," Johnny laughed.

"Ha ha," Chet smirked. "So her name's Corrie?"

"Actually, it's Corrine but I call her Corrie…after her father…Corey Marks," Caroline explained.

"I'm sure he's very proud of her," Roy mentioned thinking of his own little princess and the close bond they shared.

A shadow crossed Caroline's face as she pulled her daughter a little tighter. "He would've been…he, uh…he died in Vietnam…they never met."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Roy said slightly bowing his head.

"Thanks," Caroline murmured accepting the offered condolences. "That's why she's a bit shy around men though. It's been just the two of us her whole life."

"I'm sure that's difficult for you, ma'am. My daughter was quite a handful at that age."

She looked into the blue eyes of the paramedic whose calm reassuring voice she remembered so well from that terrible morning. "Well, after the accident…it doesn't matter how much of a handful she is…I'm just so grateful to you all for getting us out of that wreckage."

Johnny stood unusually still as he tried to recall the rescue to which she was referring but nothing came to mind. He placed a hand on his hip and formed an 'O' shape with his mouth about to ask a question when Chet chimed in.

"I'm…I'm just so amazed. I mean, you had a back injury and she was…geez, just look at her now," he felt a hint of a paternal smile spreading beneath his bushy mustache.

"It's ok Mr., er…Chet," Caroline blushed. "You can say it," she began stroking the toddler's hair as she finished up her milk. "She was gone…I had lost her and then," her voice broke as her vision blurred. "Then I heard Mr. DeSoto calling somebody on the radio and saying that…she didn't…have a pulse and wasn't brea-thing," she hiccupped, no longer able to control her emotions.

Johnny's brown eyes brightened beneath his upraised eyebrows as understanding enveloped him. He pointed back and forth between the mother and child and the lineman sitting next to them. "She's…you…foggy…Chet this…," he stammered.

Chet looked up at Johnny and flashed him a quick-witted grin. "Now who's speechless, Gage?"

"Well Awright!" Johnny's excitement could not be contained.

"This is my partner, John Gage. He was on the other end of the radio that morning talking to a doctor at Rampart General Hospital."

"Very nice to meet you Mr. Gage and thank…"

"Johnny…please, call me Johnny," he interrupted using his most flirtatious voice.

"Very well, Johnny."

"So she has no residual effects from the accident?" The paramedic had merged with the father in Roy and he had to ask the question.

Caroline kissed the top of her little girl's golden brown hair. "None…she's right on target for her age according to her pediatrician and…thankfully, she has no memory of the accident at all."

"Wow," Chet mumbled to himself. He felt his heart beginning to flip flop inside his chest as the conversation took him back to that day. He'd been battling fires for several years yet nothing had frightened him as much as pulling the lifeless child from beneath her mother as Roy lifted the injured woman; the memory of the mother's agonizing cries echoed in his mind. He recalled his sense of defeat as he checked for respirations and a pulse yet finding none and knowing that her mother was frightened and in pain still entrapped in the mangled mess. He had never had to perform CPR on a child before and yet at the scene of this accident, there was no one else around to do it. Johnny was with another victim some distance behind them and Roy and the rest of the guys were busy trying to extricate the little girl's mother. He never hesitated for even a second; he just began to do what he had been trained to do. His fears, worries, anxieties and self-loathing from earlier that morning seemed to dissipate as he performed the chest compressions and rescue breathing for the tiny girl lying so still on the cold damp asphalt of the 405 that foggy morning. He heard the ear piercing screeching of the tools used to peel open the top of the car and then the gut wrenching cries of the child's mother. He remembered hearing Roy's voice in the background as he finally made contact with Johnny to relay the information on the two female victims and he was determined to do everything he possibly could to prevent death from snatching this precious child from her mother. Silently, he mouthed his compression counts breaking only to breathe into the small oxygen-deprived lungs. Seconds blurred into what seemed like hours as his adrenaline levels continued to rise with each series of compressions and rescue breaths, forcing himself to remain restrained so as not to crush her tiny chest or damage her lungs. He repeatedly checked for a pulse but was disappointed each time. Anger at the situation mixed with his rugged determination as he continued his efforts to resuscitate the child. He refused to give up. He refused to allow death to swallow up this tiny soul without a fight. And so he continued his relentless efforts. Then he felt it; the faint feel of a pulse and the spontaneous rise and fall of the small chest beneath the heels of his hands. He rocked back sitting on his heels as he watched her eyelids flutter and the most beautiful pair of dark eyes peered up at him. He began to pant in celebration as he called out to Roy announcing that the girl had a pulse and was breathing on her own. Somewhere to his right he could here Roy's voice relaying the information to Johnny on the handy-talkie but it was the repeated joyous wails of the little girl's mother crying out 'she's alive…she's alive' that he knew would remain with him forever.

"…and all I could think was…she's alive." Caroline looked back down at her daughter with quivering lips. "She's alive," she looked up at Chet realizing that he was merely staring at her child. "Chet…because of you…she's alive. You gave her back…to me and…I can't ever…thank you enough," she whispered between hiccupping sobs.

Chet looked up at the sound of his name being called and realized that he'd somehow slipped inside of Caroline's recounting of the event rather than simply being a listener. He felt the heat rising from his collar and tinting his fair complexion.

Caroline leaned her lips down closer to her daughter and whispered something into the child's ear. She then took the empty glass from the pudgy hands and allowed the grinning girl to slip from her lap. Hesitantly, the child closed the distance between herself and the lineman and held up her arms in the universal signal that even a bachelor like Chet knew meant she wanted to be picked up and held.

Chet felt the heaviness in his chest as he watched the scene unfolding and felt the stinging beginning again in the backs of his eyes. He reached down pulling the pretty little girl in her red plaid dress into his lap. "Hey there, ladybug. How ya doin'?"

The little girl puckered up her pouty pink lips and leaned upwards. He tilted his face down just enough for her to plant a loud smacking kiss on his blushing left cheek. "Tank coo, Mizzer Fet," she giggled.

There wasn't a dry eye left on the face of a single adult in the kitchen of Station 51. Johnny ran his palm down his face while Roy swiped along the outer corner of his right eye with his index finger. Marco tilted his head sideways, using his light blue shirt sleeve to dry his face. Mike coughed into his closed fist reaching for a paper towel while Hank just allowed the wet streaks to slip downward on his tired face. Mike pulled a second paper towel off the roll and passed it to the weeping Caroline.

"Yo...ah, ahem, you're welcome, Corrie," Chet whispered wrapping his hand around her head and pulling her into a firm hug. He thought for sure his chest was going to explode as his heart swelled with joy. That simple heart-felt phrase uttered from the lips of the small child he had resuscitated nearly a year ago lifted him up from the somber pit of hell he'd been wallowing in for far too long. For the first time in a very long time, Chester B. Kelly felt a sense of accomplishment protected behind the glass of a shiny frame of happiness and hanging on his wall of personal fulfillment; a wall that up until this point in his life had been much to vacant.

"Thank you, Chet…Roy…," she tried to recall the names of the others but at the moment she wasn't even able to see their faces clearly amid her joyful tears. "Thank you…all of you."

Chet reached out to Caroline grasping her trembling hand in his own. "You're so welcome but…I need to thank you…and you too," he said staring down into the dark eyes of Corrie Marks. "I…I needed this," he struggled to say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Corrie chose that moment to reach her tiny fingers up to Chet's face and stroke his mustache. "Kitty-cat." The room erupted in laughter.

"Your momma doesn't have one of these, huh?" Chet kidded.

"Like I said, it's just been the two of us for three years so, she isn't very familiar with men," an embarrassed Caroline explained again. "No sweetie…it's called a mustache." She informed her curious daughter, deciding it was a teachable moment.

"Well perhaps after her birthday party she'll feel more comfortable around us…right fellas?" Chet looked around the room at the faces of his shift mates and knew he didn't need an answer. They would be there. They would all be there to celebrate the birthday of the little girl who now had six men wrapped snuggly around her little finger.

"Oh, thank you…thank you so much. The, um…the directions are on the invitation," she offered, standing and reaching for Corrie.

"I'll walk you out," Chet said standing and following closely behind the mother and child.

"Thanks."

"Oh, Caroline," Mike began, reaching for a peach colored container on the counter. "Here's your plate from the other day. The cake was delicious." Mike passed the container to her while the rest of the men agreed with his statement.

Hank watched as Chet walked out the door escorting Caroline and Corrie to their vehicle. The kitchen door was still swinging when Mike locked eyes with his worried Captain and said what the rest of the crew were thinking.

"Cap…don't accept it. Don't let him do it, please."

Hank grimaced; he still had the letter in his office. It would've been easy enough to destroy the resignation letter but the confession written at the bottom where Chet admitted coming to work injured and then switching boots to make it look like he'd actually been injured on the job was something that Hank simply could not ignore. He pressed his lips into a thin line contemplating his next move. Running a hand through his dark hair, he propped a hand on his narrow hips blowing out his cheeks with an audible sigh. "I'll, uh…I'll be in my office. Send Chet in there when he comes back in, will ya?"


	22. Chapter 22

Warning: Strong language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 22

Chet walked beside Caroline who was holding Corrie's small hand in hers. He couldn't help but notice the slight limp in her gait and his heart ached for her. With Corrie getting older, she was going to need all her energy to keep up with the precocious preschooler.

"Say, Caroline…you never did tell us how you were doing, since the accident, I mean."

They took a couple more steps then she turned to look at her hero with a smile of contentment on her face. "I'm improving every day. I get up pretty early so I can do my exercises and stretches that the physical therapist recommended. Progress isn't as fast as I want it to be but," she bent down slightly ushering Corrie towards the car as Chet opened the rear passenger door. "I'm not worried about me. I'm just so thankful to have this precious little girl of mine back."

Caroline's words slipped from Chet's ears to his heart leaving both glowing warmly. "You're welcome, Caroline. But honestly, I have to thank you." He leaned his elbow against the roof of the car. "I…I can't explain it but…I really needed to…to see you and Corrie, especially today."

Caroline caught the hint of melancholy in his voice and she drew her eyebrows together. "Oh, is…is something wrong? I mean, I know you've been limping for a few days but you seem much better today."

Chet looked down at his feet. It would be so easy to open his heart to her but the baggage was packed in there tightly and he wasn't yet brave enough to allow it to spring free. "Nah, it's nothing really. I'm looking forward to the birthday party. I appreciate the invitation."

Caroline's eyes brightened up immediately. "Oh, I'm so glad you can come. We don't get out very much so it'll mainly just be adults there but…this year I really needed a special celebration."

Chet grinned as he watched her walk over to the driver's side of the car. He hurriedly, stepped in front of her and opened the door.

"How nice of you," she said, impressed with his chivalry.

"You're welcome…good-bye, Miss Corrie," he said with a grin lifting his hand beside his face and wiggling his fingers as he peered inside the open door. He was rewarded with a loud round of silly giggles.

"Bye-bye."

Chet stood on the concrete apron of the fire station until Caroline had driven out of sight. He turned to go back inside with a lightness in his step and a newfound determination in his heart. This was truly where he belonged. This station was his home away from home and the men inside were his brothers in more ways than just their connection with the department. He needed to talk to his captain and apologize for how he had behaved; he just hoped that the fallout from his confession wouldn't be career-ending.

As he headed back inside the empty apparatus bay, he stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly, Caroline's words to him struck a chord that was sending shock waves through him. "How the hell did she know I'd been limping for a few days?" He reached up and nervously twisted the end of his mustache with his right hand as he meandered back into the station.

He still had a puzzled look on his face when he stepped into the kitchen where he was met by four sets of eyes. He looked into the gloomy faces of his shift mates and knew immediately that he was in trouble. "Hey, guys…what's wrong?"

"Maybe we should ask you that same question? Why are you quitting, Chet?"

Chet looked at his fellow lineman who was standing with his hips against the counter in front of the sink, arms crossed over his chest obviously waiting for an answer. He locked eyes with the man he had considered his best friend for many years. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time but now…I honestly don't know, Marco."

"Well, Cap wants to see you in his office," Roy spoke softly. "I hope he can change your mind."

"Yea…I hope he'll let me change my mind…'cause I'm in deep shit," Chet turned and walked out the door just as the squad and engine returned with a weary C-shift.

The remaining men from A-shift, except John, set about greeting them and being briefed on the shift that was ending. Firefighter Nicholas Peavy stepped down from his jump seat. "Hey…is Chet here for his shift? I'd planned to pull a double but I saw him go into the captain's office."

"Just here to meet with Cap. We still need you, Nick," Mike responded.

"Ok, I'm gonna go grab a quick shower and shave," the lineman announced running his hand across his scraggly face then began pulling off his turnout coat.

Roy saw the two paramedics exiting the squad and walked over, realizing Johnny was nowhere around and smiling to himself at the reason why. "How'd the shift go?"

"Quiet," Dwyer answered. "Last run wasn't medical so she's fully stocked. She's all yours," he offered with a grin as he and his partner turned and headed to the locker room.

Roy stared worriedly as Chet closed the captain's office door and for a moment, Roy wished he knew what was going on in there. He then reached for the supplies he knew Johnny needed and walked back into the kitchen.

Chet closed the door behind him as he walked inside the small office. "You wanted to see me, Cap?"

"Have a seat," Hank encouraged pointing at the chair beside his desk. "I read your letter. Care to explain what the hell you were thinking?"

Chet shifted in his seat, uncomfortable beneath his superior's scrutinizing glare. "I...I just…um, I thought it was best for the station if I left. I didn't think I was makin' a difference by bein' here but," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen where he and the others had met Caroline and Corrie. "Now…now I'm feelin' better about it all. I was, uh…kinda hopin' I could revoke my resignation." He looked up with pleading blue eyes and saw the stern expression on Hank's face.

"I would've been happy to revoke it if it weren't for that miserable confession you made."

Chet sank even lower in his seat feeling the weight of his situation sitting squarely on his shoulders. "Yessir," he lowered his head. "About that…"

Hank leaned back in his seat knowing that his questioning was causing his young lineman to squirm. "Are you going to try to tell me that it was a mistake?"

Chet looked up staring into the hazel eyes of the man he had always thought of as an older brother. "Well…it was a mistake, yessir…but it wasn't an error…not the confession. It's the truth," he returned his gaze to his lap feeling the sweat beads popping out around his forehead. "I really messed up, Cap. I…I don't know what to do."

Chet's remorsefulness tugged at Hank's heartstrings but the Captain still had a responsibility to the department. "Well, go ahead and do what you came here to do, Chet."

Chet's heart sank to his feet. Waves of heat began to wash over him and for a moment he thought he might faint. He cleared his throat as he pushed himself up from his seat. He no longer had a reason to be in his captain's office and so with slow movements, he reached for the office door. "Cap?" He stood staring at the door knob unable to face Captain Stanley.

"Yea, Kelly?"

"I…ahem, I just wanted to say thank you for all you've done for me through the years and…," he hesitated, gulping to force down the lump in his throat. "I'm really sorry." He pulled open the door hearing the voices of Roy and Johnny echoing in the kitchen. He wished he could walk back in there and pretend like everything was back to normal but he knew it wasn't. He paused in front of the kitchen door on his way to the locker room and in a voice barely above a whisper he spoke into the stillness of the bay. "I'll see ya 'round, fellas."

Inside the kitchen, Roy took a seat beside his partner. "Thought you might need this," Roy said tossing the bandage on the table in front of Johnny's coffee cup.

"Mmm, yea," Johnny mumbled leaning back in his chair opening the packaging.

Roy could tell his partner was going to have trouble positioning the bandages on his neck. "Here, let me help you," he offered taking the bandages out of Johnny's hand. "Unbutton your shirt a little."

Johnny reluctantly complied then tilted his head to the right to expose his injury. "You really don't believe me do you?"

"About what?"

"This," Johnny said nearly shouting as he pointed at his neck.

"What you do on your off time is your business, Junior," Roy kidded.

"I wasn't off, damn it!" Johnny slammed a hand down on the table. "Look, I know what it looks like but I swear, Roy. I was on a run for an altered mental status. You know how those are."

Roy nodded his head as he reached for his shears to trim the bandage for a better fit.

"So anyway…this lady was really out of it, ya know? She was pale…diaphoretic. Brewster and I were tryin' to calm her down so we could assess her and she was doin' what we asked, you know. She started to lie down and then," he hesitated until Roy finished securing the bandage to cover the wound. "Then she just jumped up and grabbed my shirt and pulled me down on top of her. Before I could push her off, man…she bit my neck!" Johnny's voice went up an octave as he told the story. "Said she was a vampire!"

"Stayed up all night thinking of that excuse didn't you?" Roy deadpanned.

"Roy…now I'm bein' serious here. She bit me 'cause she thought she was a vampire!"

"Well…was she?" Roy said still fighting the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"NO!" Johnny said exasperatedly. "She's a diabetic. Doc said she was havin' a hypo…hypoglycemic episode," he was so frustrated with his partner that he was beginning to stumble over his words.

"An insulin reaction?"

"Yea," Johnny mumbled. "She came around with a little glucose…and…and was horrified when she saw this and realized she had done it." Johnny pointed once again at his neck. "I really felt bad for her…seemed like a nice chick, ya know? Just didn't realize what was happening until it was too late for her to treat herself. We were just glad her neighbor knew she was taking insulin injections and called us."

Both men had flashbacks of Ed Marlowe misdiagnosing a combative male diabetic patient, refuting the symptoms Roy was seeing at the time. Ultimately, it had been the incident that let the paramedic duo know that Ed wasn't cut out for the program.

"Nothing for her to be embarrassed about; she didn't do anything wrong," Roy said remembering the young man from the car wash.

"I know, I told her that but…she was still upset," Johnny said wistfully. "Just…just don't tell the guys, a'right? I mean…the vampire thing…I'll tell them the truth…about her bein' diabetic but…," he looked at Roy and saw the faraway look in his eyes.

Roy stared at the kitchen table for a moment longer. "Ok…and for the record…I believe you."

Johnny let his grin spread. "Thanks, Pally."

Mike and Marco leaned against the dorm side of the engine unseen by the lineman exiting the captain's office. Both men knew that whether Chet left out the front bay door going to his car or whether he cleaned out his locker first, they were sure to see him from where they stood. There was no way he was going to slip out without them knowing it this time. Neither man spoke as they heard his footsteps heading toward the back of the engine; it was obvious to them that the outcome of the meeting between Chet and Hank had not gone well.

Chet reached his hand out to push open the latrine door when he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. He turned his head in their direction and locked eyes with Marco. Chet barely shook his head negatively then continued on toward his locker.

"C'mon, Lopez," Mike tapped his friend on the shoulder and both men entered through the dorm door and passed on into the locker room. They heard the shower turn on just as they entered and were thankful that Nick Peavy was going to allow them a few minutes to discuss the situation privately.

Chet pulled out his toiletry bag from his locker and began to stuff his small personal items into it. He reached for his extra shoes and then closed the locker one last time. Suddenly, he found himself flanked by his engineer and senior lineman. He exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry guys. I really blew it."

"Chet, man…I'm sorry. Are you suspended?" Mike was afraid the result had been even worse but he couldn't stand to think about that possibility at the moment.

Chet just shook his head fighting to keep his emotions in check. "Nuh-uh…he, uh…he did what he had to do."

Marco cut loose in a long Spanish phrase that neither Mike nor Chet understood but from the look on the older man's face, they both assumed he was swearing. Once he had calmed down a little, he placed a hand on the back of his friend's neck and squeezed showing his brotherly love and support. "Maybe we can talk to him."

"No need, Marco," Chet sniffled. "I did it…it's my own fault. I'll, uh…I'll be ok."

"We won't," Mike spoke up. "It won't be the same without you here."

"Thanks, I…I really appreciate it, man." He picked up his belongings then turned towards the door. "I'll…I'll see you guys at the birthday party, right?"

"You bet," Mike whispered but Marco could only nod his head.

"See ya." Chet pushed open the latrine door just as Nick turned off the water in the shower.

Hank slowly walked out into the apparatus bay; his mind focusing on Chet as he raised his deep voice and announced roll call. Johnny and Roy exited the kitchen as Mike and Marco followed Chet out the latrine door.

Chet stood momentarily watching his former crew mates file into formation. He was going to miss this whole scenario more than he ever imagined. Right now he'd give almost anything to be standing in line as his captain gave him latrine duty. Part of him was angry at himself for what he'd done but another part of him was angry with his captain for his lack of compassion. He hadn't even checked with headquarters to see if Chet could be reprimanded or suspended or anything. He'd simply refused to allow him to revoke his resignation letter. A shout he recognized jerked him out of his reverie.

"Chet…don't just stand there, you twit…get over here now!" Hank yelled at his daydreaming lineman. He wanted to make sure Chet read the Thank You note from the Carrigan family.

Chet wanted to ignore the order and walk between the engine and the squad on his way out the front open bay door. Instead, he meandered over to the line but refused to stand in formation knowing that he no longer belonged with this crew. He felt his frustration growing and churning inside his gut with each step he took in the direction from which he had been summoned. He looked around feeling the stares from the crew of A-shift. His mind was busy silently cursing the tall captain. _Kiss m'ass, Hank! I don't work for you anymore, _he thought to himself. But Chet had always held a deep respect for Captain Hank Stanley and in his heart of hearts he knew the older man was only doing what was right. He stood at a ninety degree angle to Marco who was at the end of the line and waited for whatever announcement Hank was about to make.

"Men, I have a card here from Kyle Carrigan's family. I'm going to pass it around so you can each read it," he said in a voice laced with emotion. He took a step toward Chet but the Irishman merely held up his hand in a silent refusal.

"It's for all of us here at 51's, Kelly," Hank reaffirmed holding out the card.

"Yea well…that doesn't include me anymore." He stood straighter, nostrils flaring.

"C'mon, Chet…don't do this," Johnny pleaded.

"Not my choice, Gage. It's the captain's," Chet responded to the paramedic but his eyes were trained on Hank and he noticed the captain shifting uncomfortably in his stance.

Johnny's eyebrows knitted together beneath his somewhat shaggy bangs. "Cap? Don't bust up our team." Johnny's throat went dry as he felt the heat from his superior's glare.

"I didn't bust up the team, as you say. Chet made that decision when he came to work injured and didn't report it."

"Um, actually, sir…he did report it…to me," Roy gulped when Hank's hazel eyes shifted from Johnny to him.

"Oh so, now you're the captain, DeSoto?" Hank's voice rose just as Nick Peavy opened the latrine door. "Peavy?"

"Yessir," he called out straightening his collar as water dripped from his wet hair onto his light blue uniform shirt leaving it speckled.

"How 'bout giving me a few minutes with my crew, will ya Pal?"

"No problem," Nick said making his way into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He could tell by the angry faces that something was wrong and he could only assume that it involved the man whom he was replacing. However, he respected his shift captain and his department brothers and made sure that he stayed far enough away that he couldn't overhear the conversation. Each shift was like a family unit and when misunderstandings occurred among the men, they were handled promptly…and in house. He wouldn't involve himself in a family matter about which he didn't have a need to know.

"All of you…in my office…NOW!" Hank bellowed in a rowdy whisper through clenched teeth. He led the way not needing to look behind him to know that there were five men following him. He knew the office space would be cramped but it offered more privacy and that was certainly more important than comfortable personal space.

Roy was the last man in. Closing the door behind him, he turned around to face his captain…and to answer the question that Nick's sudden appearance had left hanging in the air.

"No sir, Cap. I know I'm not the captain here but I assure you that Chet asked me to take a look at his foot last shift." He licked his lips being extra careful that the words he used were truthful. "And if I'd thought that his foot would have prevented him from fully performing the duties of his job then I assure you that I would've informed you immediately."

Chet stood staring in disbelief at Roy. This was the man who had nearly been seriously hurt by Chet's stumbling on his injured foot and yet here the paramedic stood defending him. He couldn't believe his ears. He looked into Roy's eyes and saw the unspoken message there. Roy DeSoto wasn't holding a grudge for what happened. He also wasn't telling their captain all the facts but Chet knew exactly what his friend was doing. He was giving Chet a way out.

The others in the group quickly caught on to Roy's plan. Marco spoke up next. "You know, Chet and I work very well together on a hose. In fact, I think we could take on any other team of linemen in the whole department. But, we do make errors every once in a while and…well, you know what can happen when you step on each other's feet and lose your balance when you've got a fully charged line."

Chet felt his mouth drop open and quickly shut it back closed with a slight popping sound. Marco had been furious with him after that call because he'd lied to their superior and said they're feet had gotten tangled up causing him to stumble. Again, he listened closely to Marco's words realizing that the man wasn't lying at all; he just wasn't filling in all the gaps and instead was allowing Hank's mind to fill in those blanks with his own assumptions.

Johnny was the next man to add to the conversation. "Cap, I'm sure I mishandled their boots too. I remember watching Chet carrying Kyle out and, well, you know how much heavier Carrigan was than Chet especially in all his gear and…well, we were so caught up in workin' on Carrigan that the boots just weren't that important. I mean, the initials were easily confused…you know, 'KC' and 'CK'," Johnny offered in explanation using his hands animatedly as if they were a set of scales.

Hank looked around at his men. The looks on their faces said it all. He knew deep down that they were protecting their brother and that was something he understood. He still couldn't let them off the hook. If they were going to continue this charade then he had to make sure they were all in it together. He turned his attention to Mike, his second in command. "Well, what do you have to say about all this, Mike? And I want you to look me in the eye when you say it to because I'll know if you're lying, Stoker."

Mike locked his azure gaze on his superior and without blinking his eyes he spoke in a flat monotone voice. "I believe that resignation letter and the confession were written while Chet was mentally impaired." Mike could almost hear Chet's heart racing inside the young man's chest. He knew he needed to clarify his statement quickly before the young man blurted something out of his mouth that the rest of the crew couldn't retract. "He had a prescription for narcotics because of his foot injury that was no doubt made worse by his rescue of Carrigan from the stairwell. I also believe that, in light of the circumstances going on at the time, Chet wrote those words while under extreme duress. I know I certainly wouldn't want to be held responsible for something I might have said when I was upset and heavily medicated. So why would we hold Chet to a higher standard than even our judicial system would hold someone?"

All eyes turned to Mike, the normally quiet engineer. Johnny couldn't stop the lopsided grin from spreading across his face. "Damn, Stoker…you've been watchin' too much Perry Mason."

"Or maybe he's been watching enough," Hank interjected. "I'm not being fooled for one minute by any of you in this room. I want you to know that I can see right through this whole thing," he grumbled reaching for the envelope containing the topic of their conversation. "However, I can't dispute a single thing you've said…and neither would the personnel board." He held the envelope with both hands and tore it in half. He handed the pieces back to his young lineman. "I'm sure you can find something to do with this garbage, can't you?"

Chet once again felt the stinging beginning in the backs of his eyes. "Yessir."

"Now, if you all will excuse us, I need to have a word with Chet privately," Hank announced opening the door for the men to exit. After the last man had filed out, he closed the door then looked back at his young lineman. "Now…just so we're clear on this…I'm gonna be watching you like a hawk." He pointed his finger near Chet's twitching nose. "You better not make me look like a fool and make me regret accepting your revocation."

Chet suddenly felt like a kid in middle school again, weak and inferior. "No sir…I promise I won't, sir. You won't regret this, Cap."

"Very well," he said eyeing the nervous man up and down. "I'll need a medical clearance before you can return to duty. Dismissed."

E!

A/N: This might seem like a strange place to end this tale but Chet's problems seem to be resolved while Hank's are just beginning. The next story in this series will pick up where this one left off but it will also be a stand-alone piece. If you want to be notified when it's posted then please follow me as an author and you'll get the notice in your e-mail. Thank you so much for reading this one and to those who have sent me PM's or have left reviews, you make me a better writer and I am truly grateful.


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